Family Secrets
by ChelleyBean
Summary: No new chapter just yet, but soon. My new Beta and I are currently editing and polishing up what's here already.
1. Born in Nightmare

_Dear Readers,_

_There have been a lot of questions about where this story is going.  I never promised that it would be a SS/HG romance, only that it would be a SS/HG story.  At this point in time, there are so many ways it could go.  Will Hermione dare to give her lift to a man old enough to be her father or will she find herself bound irrevocably to Draco Malfoy?  The truth is, I don't know yet.  Pretty bad when the author hasn't got a clue, but I'm just sort of letting the story take on a life of its own.  _

_Right now, however, I'm at a bit of a block.  There is a light of hope, however.  Meet my new beta, Virginia Harrison.  She's helping me out by catching my mistakes and assisting me with polishing up what's been written so far.  It's helping, too, since reworking these first chapters is clearing the cobwebs out of my brain so that I can move forward with the storyline.  The plan is to eventually clean up all my stories, but we're stating with this one since I'm still in a bit of a personal funk.  I can't think light hearted and happy (_Antigone_) when I'm in a funk.  Please bear with me._

_As always, I own nothing.  If I did, I'd have my new Wrangler, a 4,000 sq. ft. log home on a mountain top somewhere and take up stained glass as a hobby (I have an idea for this whole little stained glass village complete with a chapel, but that's another subject all together).  Don't bother to sue me, because it would just be a waste of time and legal fees.  As always, I love reviews… so feel free to shower me with them.  I won't complain._

_Love,_

_ChelleyBean_

~***~

It had started with a nightmare.

At least, Hermione had thought it was a nightmare.  She also thought that it must mean she was going mad, or at least was becoming a little bit sick.  After all, how many mentally sound people dream about such things?

It always began in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but Hermione wasn't there.  And yet, she was there, watching and unseen.  There was a student present who looked a good deal like herself, but not exactly.  She watched the girl from the outside, studying her as she looked over the sinks in the girls' toilet.  "Concentrate, Myrtle!  What do you remember?"

The ghost that would become known as Moaning Myrtle shot the girl an irritated look.  "I told you already!  Just a pair of yellow eyes, over there!"  She pointed at the cluster of sinks, her patience wearing thin.  Hermione watched as the woman she knew to be Helena Granger examined each basin. Finally, she gave a gasp of discovery. 

"Here!  This must be the one!"  She was studying the tap on one of the sinks.  "This one has never worked, has it?"  
  


"Not since I've been here."

"And one would have to wonder, Miss Wiggentree, how you knew to look here in the first place."

Hermione looked up to stare at a handsome boy in Slytherin robes.  She swallowed hard, knowing who it was.  Helena stood up as well, only it couldn't be Helena Granger, since none of Hermione's other relatives were witches or wizards.   She had always been under the impression that she was the first witch in her family.  

Helena faced him, her Head Girl badge gleaming in the light that poured through the windows.  "Tom.  Aren't you a bit out of your element?  This is a girls' lavatory."

"I was just wondering what you were up to, Helena."  He pushed away from the door frame where he was leaning and entered fully into the bathroom.  One hand pulled his wand from his robes and he pointed it at Myrtle, muttering a repelling charm that sent the ghost through a wall.  "You weren't at dinner."

"I wasn't aware that Slytherins cared if Gryffindors appeared at dinner or not."  She backed away as he approached her.  

"Only when the Gryffindor in question is likely to cause trouble."  Tom smiled.  It was more like a triumphant smirk, but it was there.  "You never did answer me."

"Answer you what?"  Was her voice shaking?  Hermione saw that she was reaching towards her wand.

"Answer me about the ball.  Remember?  I asked you this morning if you would attend it with me."  His smile became predatory as he continued to move towards her.  She was still backing away, and so far he met her step for step.  "Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't forget.  I just… thought I would sit this one out.  I never was one for balls and dances.  Seems like a lot of foolish fuss to me."

"Truly?  How odd… for a girl.  Of course, you never have been a typical girl, have you?"  He stopped in front of the sink she had been inspecting earlier and smiled.  "Do you want to see it?"

"See what?"

His smile grew a bit more.  "The Chamber of Secrets.  You were right about that part."

Helena swallowed and took another step back.  "Tom… I… I don't know what you're talking about."  Her wand was gripped tightly in her fingers, ready for action.

"Of course you do, Helena.  You're the brightest witch in our year."  His face turned towards the tap and he spoke, but the words made no sense.  They came out as a soft, hissing sound.  The Head Girl watched as the tap spun, glowing, and then the sink started to sink into the floor. Her wand came up, but before she could finished the _Rictusempra_ curse, he had countered with _Expelliarmus, taking her wand from her.  "Not the most graceful move you've ever made, Helena."_

She was in shock, but when he moved towards her she made a run for it.  He countered by coming around the other side of the sinks and grabbing her around the waist.  "Not just yet, my dear.  We have someplace to be."  Hermione watched, unable to do anything, as Tom Riddle pushed her grandmother into the opening of the chamber, Helena's scream filling the lavatory before he walked forward and muttered a charm on himself to allow him to drift down at a more graceful pace.

Then, Hermione was down at the bottom of the pipe, standing on a carpet of bones that had once belonged to small animals, mostly rats from the looks of them.  Helena fell into the pile as she slid out of the end of a pipe, covered in muck and slime.  She shook her head to clear it, and then looked around.  Hermione saw her shaking, terrified.  Tom came walking out of the pipe, bending over slightly so his head didn't touch the ceiling.  She began to move backwards at a crawl but stopped quickly with an indrawn breath.  She pulled her left hand forward and Hermione saw that there was a large splinter of bone sticking out of it.  Riddle moved over her and gripped her by her wrist, pulling her to her feet.

"You'll want to be careful, Helena.  This isn't the safest of places."  With slender fingers, he pulled the fragment of bone from her skin, and then lifted the bleeding palm to his lips, kissing it tenderly as his eyes locked with those of the girl in his capture.  

"Tom, please… let me go."

"Go?  How can I do that?  You know too much as it is.  You know about the chamber, which means you likely know about me as well.  You always were the cleverest one in our class, the only one to really challenge me.  It annoys me at times, but I do appreciate it."  He turned quickly, fingers still locked tightly around the girl's slender wrist as he drug her down the tunnel more deeply into the chamber.  It seemed to take forever before they arrived at a metal doorway flanked on either side by tall pillars of serpents.

His soft, hissing voice slithered out before him, triggering the locking mechanism on the inner door to disengage, the door swinging open.  Hermione hurried to keep up, her hand reaching out for her grandmother's, but her fingers kept passing through Helena's as though she herself were no more substantial than smoke.  

Water from the lake far above them had collected on the floor of the chamber, but Hermione was the only one who made no sound as they passed.  She could tell it was cold and could smell the musty odor of reptile, but it was muted and somewhat intangible.  She watched as Riddle gave her grandmother a firm jerk, sending her sprawling on the wet stone before the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

"Tell me, Helena, when did you figure it out?  How long did it take you to realize who unlocked the chamber last year?"  She didn't answer, looking around her for some means of escape.  Riddle began to pace back and forth before her.  "Tell me, Helena, or it will go badly for you."

She finally met his eyes, forcing herself to not tremble.  "I just knew that Hagrid couldn't have done it.  He'd never be one to throw stones. He'd never hold bloodlines and circumstances of birth against someone else."

"Not to mention he's too stupid to know what to do with this place."  Riddles voice was cold and sneering.

"He's not stupid!  He's just naïve."

"Oh?  Do you fancy that great oaf, Helena?  I must say I'm disappointed in you.  I thought a girl from a fine family like yours would know to stick to her own kind, not some half-blood idiot.  Besides, it would never work.  Bedding him would tear you in two."

Now Helena sneered, her eyes narrowing.  "Leave it to a Slytherin to put a vulgar twist on everything."  She got to her feet, knees shaking, but she forced herself to maintain her ground as Riddle stalked towards her.  

"And leave it to a Gryffindor to open her mouth before she has done any thinking.  Salazar was right about the Mudbloods, they don't belong here.  They have no understanding of our world and our customs."

"Just because you can't tolerate the thought of them doesn't mean they'll suddenly stop being born into Muggle families.  It has happened before and it will happen again.  And while we're on the subject," her eyes glittered dangerously, "let's discuss your own father, shall we?"

"My father?  A filthy Muggle who threw my mother aside when he learned she was a witch?  All he did was provide the seed needed to bring me into existence, nothing more.  I don't even use his name when I can avoid it."  He was standing so close to her that there was no light to be seen between them.  Helena clenched her hands into fists, her jaw clenched tightly.  She looked as though she was refusing to back down, to show any sign of possible weakness.  Hermione wanted to grab Riddle and pull him away, to get that filthy monster away from her grandmother, but her hands passed through him.  She saw him smile again, a cold sort of smile that sent a chilling fear through her.  "Would you like to see it, Helena?"

Tom whirled away from Helena and faced the statue.  His voice turned back into that raspy hiss, back into parseltongue.  Hermione watched as the mouth of the statue began to slowly open, not noticing that Helena backed away so that she passed through her right shoulder.  Something large began slither out of it.  Hermione had seen it before, having caught sight of it in a mirror, but she still couldn't tear her eyes from it.  Since she wasn't really here, the gaze of the basilisk didn't hurt her.  Riddle said something to it and it moved past her.  She turned to follow it and watched as it cut off Helena's escape from the chamber.  It used its hissing breath and cold body to herd and nudge the girl back towards Tom.  As she passed through Hermione, it became obvious that her eyes were shut tightly.  

"So, you've figured out that part as well, have you?  Very clever, but difficult to run or fight when you can't see."  Helena stopped when her back collided with Riddles chest.  She froze, her breathing ragged.  Tom looked up at the serpent and spoke to it again as his arms encircled the girl.  It began to coil around the pair of them like a poisonous green rope.  Its master took his hands and ran them up the girl's trembling arms, then back down.  He gripped her injured hand in his own and brought it over to the snake's body.  "He likes to be petted.  Strange, I know, for something so fearsome to enjoy a simple sign of affection, but it doesn't stop it from being true."  He forced her to place her palm on the basilisk's scales and then stroke it.  The creature seemed to roll under her touch, leaning into it.  

Tom let go of her hand and she stopped petting the creature.  She didn't move her hand, however, as though too afraid to move.  Riddle, however, did move.  Within the small enclosure the snake had made with its body, he walked around to stand in front of her.  "Fascinating, isn't it?  It took me years to figure out how to get down here, but now it's all so easy.  The locks will only respond to a parselmouth, so I don't have to worry about someone finding it by accident.  You were looking for it, but of course you aren't an ordinary witch.  In fact, I would wager that you are one of the most promising witches of our age.  All the teachers believe so.  I hear them talking about all the high hopes they have for you."  He stepped closer so that they were almost touching again.  Helena kept her eyes shut, her hand still resting on the serpent.  "It's very obedient to me, and very hungry.  Rats simply don't measure up to its appetite.  It was so happy when I let it out to hunt last year.  I had thought that it wouldn't be safe to let it out again while I was at school, but somehow I feel sorry for it."

Helena's eyes finally snapped open. "No!  You can't!"

"I can't?  You'd rather he starve to death?"  Riddle looked up at the basilisk's head.  "I was thinking I'd have him start with Hufflepuff, after all even their purebloods are intolerable.  Then Ravenclaw."

"No, Tom please don't do this.  I won't tell anyone.  I swear I won't say a word."

Riddle looked back at her, his eyes glittering.  "What price can you pay, to keep him in here?"

"Price?"  Her voice sounded like a strangled whisper.  He closed the remaining bit of space, but she backed up in panic, tripping over a coil of serpent.  The basilisk hardly flinched as she fell back, coming to rest on its thick body.  Riddle crouched down before her and Hermione let out an outraged yell as his hands came to rest on Helena's legs, moving to push the cloth of her skirt upwards.  The girl closed her knees together quickly.  

"No?  Well then, who would you like me to start with?  The Hufflepufffs or the Ravenclaws?  Or perhaps I should just move directly to your fellow Gryffindors."  

"No!"  She sounded panicked, worried.  She attempted to find purchase with her feet, but her shoes couldn't grip the wet stone.  "Tom, you don't want to do this.  You can't want to… why?"  She sounded as though she couldn't fathom an answer, tears starting to form in her eyes. 

"I have already told you why, Helena.  You are the greatest witch of our age and have so much potential to be even greater.  I admire greatness.  Besides, I am Slytherins' heir, but I am not immortal.  I will require heirs of my own.  Why should I settle for less than the best?  Why shouldn't the mother of my son be my equal in power?"  His fingers moved to her knees and gripped the tender skin there.  "It's up to you, Helena.  Is your body, your womb, worth saving the Muggleborns in this school?  Is that a sacrifice you can make?"

She was crying now.  He pulled her knees apart and inched forward.  "No… Tom please.  Not like this.  Not here."

Hands vanished underneath the woolen skirt and Hermione flinched at the sound of tearing cloth. "What better place to continue Slytherins' lineage than in the very chamber he built for his descendants?"  He threw the now ruined knickers aside and rose up on his knees.  Hermione could see that he was opening the front of his trousers, but the loose robes obstructed him from view.  As he moved over Helena, pushing her back against the body of the basilisk, his robes spared Hermione from having to actually see him enter her.  Her pain filled gasp and agonized facial expression told her that it was accomplished.

It was much like a car wreck.  Even though Hermione wanted to gouge out her own eyes, she couldn't look away as Tom moved against Helena.  The girl was crying, tears running down her cheeks.  He seemed to care nothing for it.  This was not an act of love or lust.  This was rape, the dehumanization of a woman.  He was dominating her, stripping her of her self-worth, reducing her to only a vessel.  The basilisk made a rumbling sound as it lay coiled about them.  Hermione screamed at Riddle to stop it, that he had humiliated her enough.  He seemed to be at it for a small eternity before he bent his head back, the expression on his face one of ecstasy.  When he had emptied himself into his victim, he looked back down at her, his face triumphant.  

He backed off of her and Hermione watched Helena quickly pull her skirt back down, clamping her legs together.  "Careful, Dearest."  Tom grabbed her by the arms and pulled her around so that she was facing the other way, then used one arm to lift her legs and drape them over the coils of the basilisk, using the other arm to lay her head down on the stone floor.  "We don't want anything wasted, now do we?"  He got up onto his knees and tucked himself back into his trousers.  "You should rest a moment, just in case we're lucky enough to be on the fertile part of your cycle."

Helena covered her face with her hands as the basilisk moved its heavy head over her.  Hermione watched as the long, forked tongue flicked over her, tasting her.  Tom reached out and petted the beast fondly.  "You have a good many Muggles that have married into your own family, don't you?  Perhaps that explains why you care so much for the Mudbloods."  He looked down at the crying girl where she still lay cradled by the serpent.  "It would be a shame should anything happen to any of them."

~***~

Hermione had bolted upright in bed, her breathing heavy.  The nightmarish rape was still fresh in her mind.  That man, Tom Riddle, and her grandmother.  The whole thing was an impossibility, but it had seemed so real.  

Too bloody real.

Her stomach churned violently and she tossed aside the thick covers of her bed.  Her feet sounded dully on the floor as she ran to the bathroom connected to her bedroom and emptied the remnants of the evening dinner into the toilet.

~***~

Hermione was in the attic of her parents' home.  There was a charity auction taking place at one of the local churches, and her mother had asked her to go through the attic for things to donate.  She had often played here as a child, going through the old text books from when her mother and father were in college and looking through old photographs of her grandmother.  Helena Granger had been a beauty in her youth, delicate and perfect in every way.  There were boxes with antique gowns in lace and silk wrapped in tissue paper and an armoire filled with jewelry.  As a child she had crept up here and tried on the dresses, far too big for her at the time, and pretended to be some world-renowned scientist or doctor giving a lecture at the university.  She would wrap herself in long ropes of pearls and slip rings onto her fingers.  These possessions meant so much to her that she certainly wasn't going to part with them.

Among her grandmother's things was a very old and very large trunk.  When it was put up here someone had attached the key to one of the end handles with a loop of wire, so it was easy enough for her unlock it.  Throwing back the lid, she smiled at the brightly coloured quilts and afghans inside.  She began to sort through them, taking them out one by one just in case there was one she wanted to keep for herself.  As she pulled out the last afghan, a delicate creation of lilac yarn and ribbon, a second key fell out into the bottom of the trunk.  She frowned at the golden key, then reached in to claim it.  As her fingertips touched it, she felt the tell tale hum of magic upon it.

She paused, thinking at first that she was mistaken.  She removed her hand and shook it out a moment, then reached for the key again.  The hum was still there.  Frowning, she picked up the key and held it up into a shaft of sunlight pouring through a tiny window above her.  It looked exactly like the key that opened the trunk, only that key wasn't magical.  Also, the other key was heavy iron, and this one was golden.  She studied it for a long moment, then shut the lid of the trunk.  She locked it with the ordinary key, then unlocked it again with the magical key, throwing back the lid.

Her breath caught within her throat.  Just as she had suspected, the trunk was spelled to have more than one interior.  The quilts and afghans were kept in the first one, but the magical key had opened the second.  She was looking down at a trunk full of things that were familiar to anyone in the wizarding world.  A wooden box from Ollivanders rested atop several sets of robes with the Gryffindor crest upon them.  She opened the box to find a slender wand, about an inch sorter than her own.  She set this aside and removed the school robes to find old textbooks.  Picking up the Transfiguration text she opened the front cover to find the print date, about sixty years before her own books were written.  It looked as though the entire six year book list was present.  There was one of the old Hogwarts annuals, something that was no longer done.  Flipping through it, she found herself looking at old wizard photos, the faces of the students bright and cheerful.  She smiled at them as they waved back at her. 

Then the memory of her nightmare came back to her.  She bit her lip worringly, then turned to the Gryffindor section of the annual.  There, right in the front of the section, was a photo of the Head Girl.  Helena Wiggentree smiled brightly up at her, looking happy and full of life.  The same face as an old photograph, an old _Muggle_ photograph that she had of Helena Granger holding her father when he was barely one month old.  Hermione swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest.  So she _wasn't the first in her family to be born a witch.  There had been others, or at least one other._

Her hands shook as she turned through the book further.  She came to the Slytherin section and drew a shakey breath at the photo of Tom Riddle.  He looked like some sort of dark angel, handsome and otherworldly.  Looking at this photo, it would be impossible to imagine he could be the same demon who held the wizarding world in terror.  He looked as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

She continued to turn the pages and came across photos taken later in the year.  There were the pictures of the individual Quidditch teams and one that was labeled "Potions Team" that made her wonder if Hogwarts used to regularly complete with other schools.  There were the couple photographs with titles such as "Most Likely to Marry" and "Most Likely to Set the Ministry of Magic on its Ear".  She turned the page again and froze.  There were the Head Boy and Head Girl, only this time Helena didn't look very happy.  She looked as though she had been suffering from lack of sleep and had missed one too many meals.  Hermione's stomach threatened to rebel on her as she noted that Riddle was standing behind her grandmother with his arms wrapped around her waist, a cocky, self-satisfied smile on his lips.  Helena wasn't even looking at the camera.  The title read "Most Likely to Succeed", but someone had signed it.  Hermione licked her lips as she read the spidery scrawl.  "Most Likely to Rule the World – V."

She slammed the book shut and threw it back into the trunk, her body having gone completely cold.  It was real, her nightmare was all too real.  That thing had touched her grandmother.  Hermione was a clever girl, she could decipher what had most likely happened afterwards.  She would wager all the gold in Gringotts that there had been very little heard from Helena Wiggentree after graduation.

Something tugged at her mind. She ignored it at first, but then reopened the book.  In the photo, that last photo, he had held her with his arms wrapped around her waist. His hands, however, had been resting low on her belly, almost possessively.  Hermione looked towards the open trap door that let the light from the hallway below come in.  She thought of her father, of his birthday.  She had come late in their lives and her parents were older than most of the parents her classmates had.  She looked at the date on the annual, her mind whirring.  The numbers all clicked in perfect alignment.

_"I am Slytherins' heir, but I am not immortal.  I will require heirs of my own."_

Her eyes closed as if in pain, a silver tear escaping from one eyelid.  Slytherins' heir.  Voldemort's son.  Her perfect, normal, Muggle father.  The blood of the most feared and reviled sorcerer ever to live flowed through the veins of that wonderful, extraordinary man.  It flowed through her own veins as well, but that was more pain than she could truly bear just now.


	2. Unburden the Mind

By the time Hermione returned to school for her seventh and final year, she had convinced herself that she was wrong.  Oh, she had no doubt that Helena Wiggentree was Helena Granger, and she had even less doubt that a slimy, megalomaniac then known as Tom Riddle had made her life into a living hell, but there was no way her father could be Voldemort's son.  So she wasn't the first witch in the family.  If Tom Riddle had raped her with the intentions of getting her pregnant, she would have turned her back on the magical world and gone into hiding as well.  However, a witch powerful enough to be Head Girl and someone with the magical punch of Lord Voldemort would have given birth to a witch or wizard, and her father was apparently a squib.  So, perfect, she wasn't the granddaughter of Lord Voldemort.  Problem solved. She could put that hellish idea to bed and move on to uncovering more about her grandmother and family.

She had taken the old annual and several photos of her grandmother with her to school, intending to speak to Professor Dumbledore the first time she could.  It would be easy to get time with him, since she was Head Girl.  With the annual and photos secured in her book satchel, she made the trip towards the Headmaster's office after the welcoming feast for their beginning of term meeting.  

"Welcome back, Granger."  Draco was already waiting there, cold and sneering as usual.  He had sprouted up rather well over the years and now stood a good eight inches over her.  He had filled out as well, enough so that he had been forced to relinquish his place as Seeker for the Slytherin team, though now he was a Beater and Captain.  Harry was still on the light and wiry side and still Seeker for Gryffindor.  Ron was Captain.  

"Hello, Malfoy."  She would be civil to him; she was determined to be so. Seven years had given her a pretty thick skin, and she would put it to good use.  He would not upset her this year.  However, she didn't like the way he was looking at her.  "What?"

"Nothing, Granger.  Just wondering how I'm going to stomach putting up with you this year.  Well have to work together most days."

She gave a lopsided smirk.  "You'll manage, Malfoy.  In spite of being a complete and utter jerk, you are quite resourceful."  She gave him an impish grin when he scowled at her.  "Now don't do that.  You'll give yourself wrinkles before you time and the Slytherin girls won't think you're so handsome any longer."  She scrunched her nose at him, and then knocked on the door.  It swung open silently on well oiled hinges, granting them entrance to the headmaster's office.

"Ah, there you are.  Come in."  Dumbledore sat behind his large, heavy desk, eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles.  Professors McGonagall and Snape were there as well, sitting in squashy chairs before the desk.  Hermione and Draco came forward into the room, taking two other chairs offered them by the headmaster.  Draco nodded respectfully to Professor Snape while Hermione returned Professor McGonagall's warm, motherly smile.  "We'll try to make this brief.  As Head Boy and Girl it is the responsibility of you both to organize the school prefects in regards to nightly patrols as well as help the teachers maintain order.  Of course, there are also errands and tasks that will be asked of you by the other teachers, but it is not the goal for us to overtax the both of you to the point that you cannot keep up with your studies."  The aging wizard graced them with a grandfatherly smile.  "I trust the two of you are aware that you now should be the example for the other students to look up to."  Both students nodded.  "Good, and you know that you can come to myself or any of the teachers should you run into trouble."  They nodded again.  "Excellent.  Of course there will be other things for you to organize, such as the Yule ball that is being planned for this year and your own graduation ceremony.  However, the hour is late and you both need to get some sleep before your classes begin tomorrow.  Congratulations."

Malfoy turned to walk away, but Hermione remained.  She cast a shy glance towards the professors before looking back to the headmaster.  "Something more, Miss Granger?"  She heard Malfoy stop behind her.  

"Yes, Headmaster.  I…I was wondering if you could look at something for me."  She opened her satchel and took out the annual.  She was about to show it to the headmaster, then stopped.  Looking over her shoulder, her eyes connected with Malfoy's.  She bit her lip and turned back to the desk.  "It's rather private."

"I see.   Professor Snape, perhaps you and Mr. Malfoy should go.  I'm sure there are house matters you wish to see to."

"Of course, Headmaster."  Snape jerked his head at Malfoy as he walked towards the office door.  Hermione looked back at the Slytherin Prefect to note his disgruntled expression.  Still, no one went against Professor Snape.  He turned and left with his Head of House.

"Now then, Miss Granger, I assume that you have no qualms about Professor McGonagall remaining."  She shook her head, venturing a small smile.  "Well then, what seems to be the trouble?"

She took a deep breath and turned the annual around.  "This is, Headmaster.  It's an old Hogwarts annual from a little more than fifty years ago.  I found it in an old trunk in our attic."

Professor McGonagall frowned.  "You found a _Hogwarts book in your attic, Miss Granger?"_

"Yes, Professor.  It was in a trunk of my grandmother's things."  She opened the book to where the Gryffindor section began.  "It was a trunk like Crouch had when he was pretending to be Professor Moody, with a magical key that opened a different compartment.  When I looked through the book…" she hesitated, not sure how to go about telling him this. 

"Yes, Miss Granger?"  The headmaster was now holding out his hand.  She was aware of the weighted gaze coming from both teachers as she walked forward and handed the book over. 

"I found my grandmother, Headmaster."  Her voice was soft, hesitant.   Dumbledore seemed genuinely surprise as he turned the book around and then looked down at the page.  A smile then formed on his lips.

"Helena Wiggentree.  So that's what happened to her."  His eyes came up, his expression kind.  "I knew there was someone you reminded me of, Miss Granger.  Head Girl, like yourself, and a joy to teach.  I believe she was a second year when you came to school, Minerva." 

Professor McGonagall had risen from her chair and had walked over to the headmaster's desk.  "I remember her.  A brilliant young woman."  She looked at the picture, then up at Hermione, her smile bright.  "This explains quite a bit, doesn't it?  It's not unusual for a Muggleborn witch to be as talented as you are, Miss Granger, but it isn't as common as someone born from a wizarding family."

Dumbledore was looking down at the photograph again, one finger twisting in his beard.  "I had wondered what had happened to her.  Many of us did.  Miss Wiggentree vanished without a trace, shortly after graduation.  Even her family claimed no knowledge of her whereabouts."  He looked up at Hermione.  "So, she threw herself into the Muggle world, did she?  Surprising.  She had so much going for her in this world.  Do you remember much about her?  Any indication at all that she was a witch?"

Hermione shook her head.  "Not a whisper of it.  She didn't even approve of me reading anything that even hinted at magic, and I know that some of the odd things that I did by accident as a child upset her."  She frowned.

"Any idea why, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was about to say something, to tell him about the dream, and then stopped.  She chewed her bottom lip briefly, and then shook her head.  There was a soft sound from the headmaster, as though he didn't fully believe her.

"The Wiggentrees are a very old and well respected family, Miss Granger.  They are on the same social strata as the Malfoys, only more well liked.  However, their road is never an easy one.  They are Diviners."

Her brows snapped together.  "Like Professor Trelawney?"  Her family was a bunch of moony-eyed, tea leaf reading charlatans?  She wouldn't believe it, couldn't believe it.

"Not quite, Miss Granger.  You see, they see the past, rather than the future.  Most of the family does, but in varying degrees.  The majority of them have a light gift, seeing the past only in vivid dreams that refuse to leave them upon waking.  Others have visions while completely awake.  Still others can touch an object or person and glean information from them, though sometimes this is a hard burden to bear.  There was a Wiggentree boy who was supposed to start school here in your second year, but by that time his gift was so highly developed that he was getting images from objects all the time and couldn't bear to be around large crowds of people.  Objects that are known to them, common to them, are less traumatic, so he is being instructed at home.  Several of your grandmother's family have been forced into isolation because of this power."  He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and worried it with his tongue as he watched her.  

Hermione had started looking down at the open book, staring at her grandmother's picture.  It was Professor McGonagall's voice that broke through her silence.  "Miss Granger, have you been showing any signs of this gift?"

"I.. I don't know, Professor.  There was a dream, and it seemed real, but it could have been only a nightmare."

"You don't sound that sure, Miss Granger."  Professor Dumbledore was looking at her over the top of his spectacles now.  

"It's just… I had the dream before I found the annual, and when I was looking through it, there was someone from my dream in there."  She gave a nervous look at the annual.

"Which person, Miss Granger?"  Albus leaned forward, elbows on his desk as he studied the girl closely.  She drew in a shuddering breath, or perhaps she was shuddering in revulsion, it was difficult to know which.

"Tom Riddle."  There was a sharp intake of breath from Professor McGonagall.  Hermione lifted her eyes to the headmaster's face.

"Did your vision suggest that perhaps Riddle played a part in your grandmother deserting our world?"  Hermione licked her lips, and then nodded.  She was on the verge of crying again.  "Could you tell us how?"

"He…" she faltered and took a breath.  "In the dream… vision… he…"  She gave a frustrated sigh.  "I can't, Headmaster.  I just… I just can _say it.  It was too horrible."  She would not cry.  She refused to cry.  Instead, she forced herself to meet the headmaster's eyes again.  He was looking at her with a concerned expression._

"I see.  Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would like the chance to get the memory of it out of your head?"  He got up and walked over to a chest nearby, opened it, and pulled out a stone bowl.  "I trust that Mr. Potter has told you all about my pensieve."  She nodded, transfixed.  "What I am suggesting is that you add your memories to it.  That way, you will no longer be burdened by something that is clearly upsetting to you and Professor McGonagall and I can review the incident without having to put you through the trauma of repeating it."  Her eyes feel to the bowl, a look of longing evident.  "It's quite simple.  Here, I'll show you."

He motioned her to him like a beloved grandfather and stood her before the bowl on his desk.  The spell was easy enough and he guided her into removing just those memories that involved the vision.  She would retain the memory of her grandmother's identity so that she could continue to look for answers about her.  "Ah, excellent.  Now, let one of the teachers know if you have another vision.  Professor McGonagall will secure a penseive of your own to use for any that are too disturbing to you.  I know I don't have to tell you that Helena leaving our world was quite a shock.  If she had remained, battles may have come out differently.  Her disappearance is a mystery that we have long since wanted to solve."  Hermione smiled up at him, suddenly feeling a good deal lighter than when she had come in.  She knew that there was something dark and foreboding that she was supposed to be worrying about, but it had faded only to a shadow.  The bulk of the problem was in that little stone bowl that the headmaster was now moving to the center of his desk.  "When you feel ready to revisit this particular memory again, you have only to let me know.  Now, I suggest that you hurry along to bed.  Don't forget your book."  

Hermione took the annual and tucked it back into her satchel.  With a whispered word of thanks, she left the headmaster's office and made her way to Gryffindor Tower.  

~***~

Voldemort's power was growing, almost back to where it had been before.  He was impeded, however, by the efforts of those who remained loyal to Professor Dumbledore.  Hermione, Harry and Ron knew all about this, since at least once a year they could depend upon finding themselves battling against some nasty villain or the other whenever the Dark Lord tried to dispose of The Boy Who Lived.  Perhaps they were becoming a bit too arrogant, thanks to their many near brushes with death, but they were still young and believed themselves invincible like so many young people before them.

"Hey, doesn't having your best friend as Head Girl mean you can sneak out and roam the castle at all hours of the night?"

"Oh, let me think about that."  Hermione put a finger to the corner of her mouth and looked thoughtful.  "Uhmm…no."  She gave Ron a playful grin.

"Then what's the use of having you, then?"  He laughed and gave a mock yelp of pain when she punched him lightly in the shoulder.  "Oh well, guess it evens out having Dear Old Drakie as Head Boy."

Harry made a gagging noise.  Hermione smacked him lightly on his shoulder.  "Grow up.  You two shouldn't let him get to you like he does."  She bent over and was reorganizing her book satchel for the day's classes. 

"But he's so annoying, Mione."  Ron grinned and leaned over her, placing his chin on her shoulder.  "So, how was your summer?"

"Oh, it was great!"  She stood up suddenly and spun around.  "I found out something I didn't know about my grandmother."

"You didn't know something?  I think we should owl Rita Skeeter immediately!  This will need to be written up in the next edition of _Hogwarts: a History_ at the very least."  Ron ducked another blow, but Harry started to laugh.

"I can just see it now.  'September 4th, 1998, Hermione Granger admitted that there was something she didn't know.'  I think you're right, Ron.  Definitely of historical importance."

"Fine, see if I ever confide in you two again."  She whirled back around and picked up the satchel, slipping it over her shoulder.  She turned to leave and found herself face to face with Harry's chest.  She hated being short.  "Yes, Mr. Potter?"  Her voice was cold as she attempted to impersonate the Potions Master.

"We're sorry. What did you find out?"

She arched a brow, and then looked up at his face.  He was giving her one of those sweet, innocent smiles he had perfected to enable him to lie convincingly to teachers when he was up to no good.  "Very well, I found out that she was a witch."

"What?"  Ron fell off of the arm of the chair he had been sitting on.  "Really?  I thought you were the first one in your family."

"I did as well."  She backed up from Harry and moved over to claim the now empty chair, sitting in it sideways and looking down at Ron.  "But there was a trunk up in the attic. I was going through it and found a magic key.  When I closed the trunk and re-opened it with the new key, there were all these old school things from Hogwarts, along with this."  She opened the satchel again and pulled out the annual.  Hurriedly, she thumbed through the pages and found her grandmother's picture again.  "Here, this is her."

Harry leaned over and looked down at a black and white photo of a pretty girl with slightly oversized teeth.  Her hair was braided tightly, but a few frizzy strands were starting to escape.  She smiled and waved up at the three.  Ron gulped loudly beside him.

"You're a Wiggentree?  Hermione!  This is amazing!" 

"Who are they?"

"A really old family, Harry.  They're a bit odd, but they've got more money than the Malfoys.  Not to mention that people respect them more than the Malfoys.  This is brilliant Hermione.  Wait until Draco finds out your not exactly a Muggleborn after all."  He looked as though Christmas had just come early.

"No!"  Hermione slammed the book shut.  Her eyes had gone wide.

"What? Why not? After all the times he's insulted you because of your parents?  Of course we gotta tell him."  Ron looked as though keeping this secret would be the most insane idea they had ever come up with.

"No, Ron.  We can't tell anyone about this, especially Draco Malfoy."

"Why not?"  Harry sounded as confused as Ron looked.  Why wouldn't Hermione want anyone to know?  She frowned, and then shook her head.  '

"I… I don't know why.  I just know that we shouldn't.  We need to keep this between just us and the teachers, at least for now."  She sighed at Ron's frown.  "I can't explain it, Ron.  It's just a feeling I have."

Ron looked at her a little longer, and then nodded.  "All right, Hermione.  If that's what you want, we won't say a word."  He smiled then.  "Come on, it's time for our favorite class.  Double Potions with the Slytherins.  Let's go see how much we can irritate that greasy git this year."

Potions class was held in one of the dungeons.  No matter what time of year it was, down here it was still cold and miserable.  During the winters they would huddle around their cauldrons for warmth.  The only person who didn't seemed to mind the chill was Professor Snape, the youngest of the Hogwarts teachers and head of Slytherin house.  He favored his own students horrendously and despised all things Gryffindor.  Harry and Ron were often subjected to the worst of his temper, followed closely by Neville Longbottom.  Hermione was often ignored, simply because she rarely gave him reason to be cross with her and he couldn't take off points for potions that were always made perfectly.

Snape prowled the potions room like a caged tiger, his robes rustling behind him as he moved between the worktables.  Hermione always shared a space with Neville so that she could help him as much as she could.  He was getting better, but Snape still terrified him.  They were working together on a complex healing potion when Snape stopped just behind them, watching over their shoulders. Neville's hands began to shake, but stilled when she reached over and lightly touched his wrist.  The Potions Master's soft, silky voice drifted towards them.  "Stay after class, Miss Granger."  Then he was gone amidst the soft rustle of fabric.

Harry and Ron looked puzzled that Hermione had been kept behind, but she motioned for them to leave when class let out.  Once the room was clear, Professor Snape had her close the door and approach his desk.  He leaned forward, black eyes glinting in the firelight coming from the torches, his fingers steepled under his chin.  She stood there in silence for a long, drawn out moment.  Finally, he began to speak.

"The Headmaster came to visit me last night, long after you had gone to bed.  He wanted me to see something, a memory you had given him."  She tilted her head to one side, thinking on the dark shadow in her mind where the Bad Thing had been.  "I wouldn't have thought a Gryffindor, especially you, would have been too afraid to hold onto a memory, but after viewing it, I can understand your concerns.  Still, I disagree with your actions.  You should have forced yourself to accept it."

He straightened up and stood from his chair.  Walking around from the slightly raised platform, he came to stand before her as she turned to face him.  "However, what is done is done.  In light of recent discoveries, your family heritage as well as the apparent surfacing of a rare gift, the Headmaster feels that your so-called nightmare should be taken in seriousness.  I find that I quite agree with him.  Do you have any recollection of what it involved, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head.  "I know it involved my grandmother, and I remember it also had something to do with Tom Riddle, something that he did to her, but that's all.  My father is involved in some manner as well, but I can't recall what."

"I see."  He motioned for her to walk with him to where a small cauldron bubbled in the corner of the classroom.  "At the Headmaster's request, I began brewing this last night.  Can you tell what it is?"

She looked at the contents of the cauldron.  A thick, poisonous green liquid bubbled there.  She took note of the color, and then looked at some remaining ingredients around it.  "A patrilineage potion.  They're used to prove blood lines, though they're rarely bothered with any longer."  For some odd reason, she felt her stomach clenching.

"Correct, Miss Granger.  The Headmaster is already writing to the Wiggentrees about your existence.  I suspect you will have visitors soon.  However, it is another bloodline that we are concerned about.  I needed you to stay after class so that I could ask for a sample of your blood, for when it's ready.  I still need to secure a sample from the other person to be tested, but I cannot be for certain when I shall have it."

She fisted her hand by her side, looking up at her teacher.  Some part of her said that she didn't want to give him the sample, that she didn't want to be tested.  What if the test went horribly wrong… or would it be right?  Whoever it was that they were expecting had them worried.  Furthermore, though she had no doubts she could trust the Potions Master as long as Professor Dumbledore trusted him, she wasn't comfortable with letting someone cut her with a blade.  Snape arched a dark brow at her.

"Where's all that Gryffindor courage that has been tormenting me in class for the past six years, Miss Granger?  Surely you aren't afraid of a little blade."

She bit her lip, and then shook her head.  Un-fisting her hand, she offered her arm to the professor.  He took her wrist into his hand gently.  His fingers were surprisingly warm and gentle against her skin as he took a tiny silver sickle and pierced the delicate skin on the inside.  Blood, bright and crimson, welled up as he removed the blade from her skin and picked up a glass vial.  He tilted her arm and used his fingers to work the small wound so that the blood fell into the vial.  She watched it fall, drop after drop, until it was half filled.  A thumb moved over the cut and he whispered a soft charm.  There was a tingle at the spot, and when he released her the cut was healed.  

She stepped back, rubbing her wrist as he stoppered the vial.  "I will keep this until we have the other sample.  Once both a secured, I'll add them to the potion.  You'd best hurry along, Miss Granger.  I'm sure the books in the library are starting to miss you."

Hermione couldn't run fast enough.


	3. Lost Relations

Draco was just returning through the front doors from Quidditch practise, his players in tow.  They walked across the rolling lawn, up the stone steps and through the great double doors of the castle, all the while talking about their stratagems and new plays.  Sweat stuck their hair to the foreheads and a few were smeared with dirt where they had gotten knocked to the ground during practice.  Draco drew up short, however, when he spotted the well dressed wizard and witch speaking with Professor McGonagall.

He knew of the Wiggentree family, had even had dinner with them a time or two when politeness had dictated that they be invited to Malfoy Manor or vice versa.  They were Mudblood lovers and troublemakers along the same line as Dumbledore, but they were also wealthy and well loved in the wizarding world.  It was said that you would be wiser to turn your wand upon yourself than to cross a Wiggentree, because they could find even the darkest secrets of your past.  Many of their family had worked for the Ministry as spies and intelligence wizards over the years.  On the rare occasions that one of them came to the manor, his father was sure to order all new dishes and furnishings for the rooms they would be in.

The team turned off towards the Great Hall for lunch while Draco continued forward.  He paused by a suit of armour, pretending to bend down to tie his shoe, straining his ears to hear.

"I've already sent for her.  She's to meet us in Professor Dumbledore's office."  

"Minerva, tell me, what does she look like?"  The aging wizard was one Draco recognized as Albert Wiggentree.  His picture had been in the Daily Prophet more than Gilderoy Lockhart, before and after Lockhart was found to be a fraud.

"She's the exact image of her grandmother, and every bit as clever.  I can't believe I never saw it before now."

The witch next to Mr. Wiggentree gasped, tears shining in her eyes.  Draco frowned.  What was going on here?  Finally the woman spoke.  "You said that they named her 'Hermione', Minerva?"

"Yes, Hermione Granger.   She's our Head Girl as well as top of her class.  I can't wait for you to meet her.  You'll be so proud."

"Then let's not keep her waiting any longer.  Lucille, please dry your eyes.  We don't want the girl to think we're not happy to have found her.  Minerva, please lead on."  The three of them turned and headed up the stairs.  Draco straightened up, his brow furrowed.  Hermione Granger and the Wiggentrees?  They were happy to have found her?  If Granger was connected with the Wiggentrees, it was likely to change a good many things.  

Instead of joining his team for lunch, Draco headed for the dungeons.  He needed to draft a letter to his father immediately.  Lucius Malfoy would be most interested in this.

~***~

She picked an imaginary bit of fuzz from her robes for about the fifth time.  She knew that the headmaster was fighting a chuckle at her nervousness, but she didn't really care at the moment.  What if they didn't like her?  What if they didn't want anything to do with her?  What if she were wrong?

The door opened and Professor McGonagall came in, followed by a witch and wizard she didn't know.  They were well dressed and looked to be in their seventies or eighties.  Hermione stood, swallowing nervously and smoothing her school robes. 

"Miss Granger, allow me to introduce Albert and Lucille Wiggentree.  They are the brother and sister of Helena Wiggentree."

"How do you do?"  Should she curtsey or something?  How does one greet long lost relatives?  Lucille seemed to know, however, because she came over with a swish of her velvet cloak and silk robes to reach Hermione.

"The very image of her."  She raised a hand clad in a fine leather glove to brush back a stray curl.  "And Head Girl as well."  Fiery brown eyes seemed to drink in every inch of Hermione's face and figure, tears threatening to fall.  "Oh, Albert… she's perfect."  The aging witch pulled Hermione to her, wrapping her arms about the girl and holding her close.  

"Now, Lucille.  There's no need to go to the other extreme.  You're going to have the poor child thinking we're all daft."  Albert Wiggentree came forward and gently pried his newly found great-niece from his sister's grasp before she managed to strangle her.  "You'll have to be patient with your aunt.  I think losing you grandmother was harder on her than anyone else.  They were quite close."

"It's all right, sir.  I don't mind."

"Bah!  No 'sir' nonsense.  Call me Uncle Albert or just Uncle, but don't call me 'sir'.  You'll make me feel old."  He laughed at his own joke as Dumbledore came to them and suggested they all have a seat before the hearth.  Tea and biscuits appeared magically on the coffee table before them as they took their places.  "So, Minerva tells us that you're the top of your class. Just like your grandmother.  Probably a genius at charms and transfigurations, and more than adequate at potions."  The wizard leaned forward, an impish gleam in his eye.  "Tell me; ever brew anything you weren't supposed to?"

"Of course not!  Miss Granger is a model student.  She wouldn't do anything illicit!"  Professor McGonagall glared at her uncle, and then gasped in shock when Hermione whispered "Once."

"Oh ho!  Do tell us what it was."

"It… it was Polyjuice potion.  I… there were some attacks on the school and I thought that one of the other students was behind it.  There was no proof, so I brewed the potion so that we could interrogate him in secret."  She was looking down at her lap, not wishing to meet Professor McGonagall's gaze.

"We?  Not just you?  Have you gotten yourself a following then, my dear?"  'Uncle Albert's' eyes sparkled with a mischievous light.

Dumbledore chuckled warmly.  "Calm down, Minerva. It was her second year.  Surely you don't expect to punish her for it now.  And besides, if memory serves, she got quite enough punishment as it was."  He looked down his long, crooked nose at Hermione, his blue eyes twinkling.  "I believe you were in the hospital wing when your last ingredient wasn't what you thought it was?"  Hermione blushed scarlet and he chuckled again.  "And as for her following, Albert, Miss Granger is fast friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."

"Really?  Impressive friends."  Albert's eyes sparkled almost as much as Dumbledore's, but Lucille still seemed to be trying to convince herself that Hermione was real.  "Oh, Merlin's beard, Lucille!  Just ask the girl!"  Lucille jumped, withdrawing the hand that had been hovering over Hermione's hair.  She blushed a deep pink and looked down.  Albert sighed.  "Forgive us, Hermione, but I believe that the Headmaster advised you of our family's particular gift?"  The girl nodded and Albert smiled.  "Well, Lucille gets readings by touch, and she is dying to know if you'll allow her to read you.  It doesn't hurt, and it only takes a moment, but it will allow her to see the most important events in your life so far."

Lucille offered Hermione a gentle, reassuring smile, her hands now clasped in her lap.  Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, considering it, then nodded.  "All right.  I don't see what harm it could do."

Lucille smiled and began to pull off the elegant gloves.  Slender, warm fingers reached over and intertwined themselves with Hermione's.  The other adults in the room fell silent as the witch let her eyes go hazy and out of focus.  Hermione felt no difference, no hint of magic, but her aunt was obviously experiencing something.  Her lips parted and she seemed oblivious to the world around her.  Hermione stared, transfixed at the sight.  

Suddenly, Lucille gasped and released her hand.  She leaned back, her hand going to her mouth so that she bit down on the knuckle.  "Lucille?  What is it?"  Albert looked concerned.  His own hands were not covered, so he simply reached across Hermione towards his sister.  She touched his hand and the two of them sat frozen for a long moment before breaking apart.  "Oh dear."

Hermione felt an uneasy chill settle within her.  "What is it?  Was… was I wrong?  Was it… wasn't it her?"

Albert shook his head as if to clear it.  "No, Dear, you were right.  It was Helena.  There was just… an even that happened when you were an infant.  Nothing more, but quite shocking.  Best not to go into that just yet until we figure out more about what happened."  He patted her arm gently as Lucille drew her gloves on once more.  "For now, however, I want to hear all about your father and mother.  Don't leave out a single detail."

~***~

Hermione returned to the common room several hours later.  Ron practically pounced on her the second she cleared the portrait hole.  "Well? What were they like?  Were they happy to see you?"

She took a deep breath.  "They were wonderful, Ron.  Absolutely wonderful!"  She threw her arms about his neck, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.  Harry watched them from his chair in front of the heart, his face beaming.

~***~

How did she get in the dungeons?  Hermione frowned, then turned and walked to the door.  She reached out to turn the latch, but her hand passed right through it.  She frowned, licking her lips.  A soft sound coming from her left drew her attention.  Turning her head, she saw Helena sitting at a heavy, battered desk.  She was scratching on parchments with a quill.  Curious, Hermione walked towards her, passing through the corners of tables.  When she reached the desk, she saw that the girl was grading what appeared to be first year potions essays.  Apparently the Head Girl was lending a hand.  Se smiled, watching her grandmother as she penned helpful comments in the margins next to the incorrect answers, the scarlet ink glistening in the candlelight.  

The door to the dungeon room opened and both girls looked up.  A body was silhouetted in the doorway, features blacked out by the light shining behind him.  "Gregory?  Is that you?  I'm almost done here."

"Gregory?  Not that pathetic little Hufflepuff who's been sniffing after you since he came here, surely."  Riddle stepped the rest of the way into the classroom, shutting the door behind him and sliding the lock home.  He pulled out his wand and murmured a silencing charm on the walls.  

"What are you doing here?"  Helena's voice had gone to a soft whisper.  

"I haven't seen you.  I was worried about you."  He walked between the worktables, that superior smirk on his lips again.  "I thought you might be ill."

There was a snap and Hermione looked down to see that the quill in Helena's hands had broken.  "I didn't want to see you."

"Ridiculous.  How can we start our life together if we don't see one another?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I may not want a life with you?  Go away, Tom.  Turn away now and I won't tell anyone about what happened."  She shifted in her chair, her hands slipping into her robes for her wand.  She froze when he raised his own.  

"Why do you insist on making this difficult?  I'm offering you power the likes of which you never dreamed of, and all I ask from you in return is your fidelity."

"And a child.  Do you realize how silly that sounds?  You're barely eighteen, I'm only seventeen.  We've got decades left in our lives!"  She was inching away from the desk, and Hermione could tell she was trying to figure out where she could escape to.

"Life is uncertain, Helena.  People die in tragic accidents every day.  I don't want to run the risk of anything happening to you before we've the chance to become parents."

She was inching her way along the wall, not daring to take her eyes from him.  "I don't want this.  I want nothing to do with you."

He smiled, his eyes glittering with something evil and cold.  Hermione shivered from the intensity of it, wanting to yell out for Helena to run, to get out of this place before it was too late.  "My Dearest Helena, where did you ever get the impression that you had a choice?"  He indicated one of the work tables with a flick of his wand.  "Get onto the table."

She froze, pressing herself back against the cold stone of the wall.  "No."

"I grow tired of your defiance, Helena.  Get onto the table."  He started to move towards her as she continued to shake her head.  

"No, you're not going to do this to me.  Not again!  I won't allow it."

"You will allow it.  You will because I think you know exactly what I'm capable of.  I know what the Wiggentrees can do, Helena.  I don't believe for a moment that you found the Chamber of Secrets because you didn't think Hagrid could be responsible.  I think you _know he wasn't responsible.  I think you __saw what happened."  He reached her side, standing over her.  "What did you see?"_

"I saw you.  I saw you frame Hagrid, using Aragog against him.  I saw you open the chamber.  I saw you murder Myrtle."

"A blessing for the entire school, I'm sure."  He reached into her robes and pulled out her wand, tucking it into his own pocket before he put his own wand away as well.  

"She was a sweet girl."

"Oh yes, yet another one of your precious Mudbloods.  Really, Helena, your family needs to figure out their loyalties.  Now, get onto the table."

"No!"  She threw herself at him, trying to knock him down, but he was too strong.  He grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her arms behind her, grasping her wrists in one of his hands while the other one came up to caress the side of her neck.  

"Do you have any idea how lovely you are, Helena?  All the fire and strength waiting to break free, but you're afraid of yourself."  His voice had become soft, charming.  He bent his head forward and ran his lips lightly over her jaw.  "I can set you free, Helena.  I can help you get over your fears and realize your full potential."  He lifted his lips to kiss her, only to have her wrench her face away.  The silent denial made his face twist in fury.  "Very well, have it your way!"

Hermione screamed as Riddle twisted around, throwing Helena face first over the work table.  The impact of her body sent glass beakers and vials crashing to the floor.  "I try to make things pleasant for you, Helena.  I offer you the world, and still you throw it all back in my face!"  She struggled to get up, but he pushed her back down, slamming her head against the cold wood with one hand as he used the other to jerk up her robes and skirts.  "You do have a choice, Dearest; I can clothe you in silks and jewels or I can clothe you in chains.  That is the only choice you have any longer."  

He tore away the schoolgirl knickers and let them fall away, held onto her only by the waistband.  Hermione wrench her eyes from the sight and covered her ears, trying to block out Helena's sobs.  Her hands, however, must have been insubstantial even to her, because she still heard her grandmother crying.  Helena yelped in pain for a brief moment, and then Hermione began to hear the rhythmic scraping of the table legs against the stone floor.  There were feral, grunting noises coming from Riddle now mixing with the sobs.  Hermione was crying herself, but her own cries held no weight against the horror being replayed behind her.  It seemed to go on forever, as though it would never end, until there was a low moan behind her and the scraping stopped.  

Hermione lowered her hands, but she would not turn around.  She was gasping for breath, her heart shattering within her.  There was silence except for the muffled crying of Helena.  Then…"I wouldn't say anything if I were you, Helena."  He sounded breathless, winded from his exertions.  "You know full well I have no qualms against killing, and there are too many people you care about."  He gave a short chuckle.  "You do give your heart too easily, don't you My Love.  I'd hate to see it broken."

~***~

Once again Hermione shot up in her bed.  Her breath was making clouds in the air.  Her heart felt like it was about to break out of her chest.  She blinked, gathering her wits about her. She wasn't in the dungeons, she was in her room.  Riddle wasn't here now; he had been here in the past.  The past, the part of time that the Wiggentrees could see.  No shady "might-bes", but a solid "what was".  And he had used her, had thrown her grandmother face down on a dirty classroom table.  Violated her, and then feigned affection for her.  

She didn't remember leaving her bed or running down the stairs to the common room.  She didn't hear the Fat Lady's indignant protests at her leaving Gryffindor Tower or see any of the scolding looks from the few portraits still awake.  She ran down the corridors and stairs to where the dungeon door was and pushed through it without slowing down.  She ran past her potions classroom and rounded a corner.  The Bloody Baron was patrolling the halls and spotted her.

"You there!  Gryffindor!  What are you doing down here?!"  She didn't seem to hear him, but plunged right through him, heedless of the icy chill that sunk right to her bones.  The ghost turned and glared, but then took off through a wall next to him.  He made his way through the infrastructure of the castle until he reached the Potions Master's bedchambers.  "Severus!  Wake!"

Snape opened his eyes and looked around.  The pale spectre hovering at the foot of his bed was not a welcome sight.  "What is it?"

"A Gryffindor in the dungeons.  The Head Girl, though it's hard to recognize her in a night rail. She's upset about something.  She ran right through me as though I wasn't even there."  He seemed indignant at this part.

"The Head Girl?"  Severus threw his covers aside and sat up, reaching for his bed robe.  "Where was she headed?"

"Towards the old classrooms, moving like all the hounds of Hell were chasing after her."

The wizard was stepping into his slippers as he knotted his robe.  "Not all of them.  Just the one." 

He knew the dungeon corridors well enough to know where the old classrooms were.  The noise coming from inside one of them allowed him to quickly find the girl. She was in one of the smaller of the old classrooms, used when there were fewer students and they hadn't needed so much space.  He found her with the leg of a chair in her hand, using it in an attempt to beat one of the legs off of an upended worktable.  Her hair was wild and lit up like fire in the moonlight coming through the small window high on the wall behind her.  Her eyes were distant, vacant, and he recognized it for what it was.  She had been caught in another vision, and she had not yet fully broke free of the trance.

"Miss Granger."  He assumed his most authoritative voice, but she didn't react.  Stalking carefully towards her, he could make out words she was muttering under her breath.

"Silks or chains… silks or chains… you can **rot in your bloody silks and chains."  The first leg came loose and she dropped the chair leg over where the rest of it lay.  Her hands gripped the table leg firmly and she began to wrench at it with all the considerable strength her slight form could manage.  **

"Miss Granger."  He was closer now, but she still didn't seem to hear him.  The wood of the table leg was beginning to splinter under her efforts.  He reached out and gripped her hard on her shoulders, forcing her to face him.  "MISS GRANGER!"

She blinked at him, but the vacant look was still there.  It was as if she didn't see him, but someone else.  "No… let me go!  I don't want this!  I want nothing to do with you!"  His gut twisted as his worst fears were confirmed.  She had been forced to witness another rape, another humiliation heaped upon someone close to her by Voldemort.  She struggled in his gasp, forcing him to do the only thing he could do.

The sound of the slap echoed off the walls.  Hermione ceased struggling and finally woke the rest of the way up.  Her breathing was ragged and harsh, her body shaking.  She looked around her, and then met Snape's eyes.  "P…Professor?"  She stopped, clamping her lips shut.  He saw her shoulder shoulders convulse and recognized the signs of what was coming next.  With a quick twist he turned her so she faced away from him, allowing her to vomit up whatever was left in her stomach from dinner.  His eyes drifted towards the door where the Bloody Baron had floated in.

"Summon one of the house elves to clean this up."  Once she had finished, he reached down and scooped her up into his arms.  "And tell them to burn that blasted table."  The ghost nodded and moved aside as he carried the now exhausted girl from the room.


	4. Join Me for a Drink

The first thing she was aware of upon waking was the cool feel of satin beneath her cheek.  This confused her since her own bed clothes were made of cotton.  Her forehead creased with a frown as she blinked her eyes open.  Nothing about the room was familiar.  There were bed curtains of grey and burgundy velvet surrounding the bed, pulled back at one corner to allow for some extra light.  The pillow case beneath her cheek was burgundy satin and a grey comforter, goose down from the feel of it, was covering her.  Pushing herself up onto one elbow, she noted that the bed was large enough for three average sized people and there were at least one half dozen thick pillows.  It was far too lavish and extravagant to be a student's bed, unless Lucius Malfoy pulled enough strings to set up Draco. 

She quickly pushed that thought aside.  She didn't even want to _think about waking up in Malfoy's bed._

Crawling out from between the sheets of the bed with as much grace as she could manage, she wrestled her troublesome night dress with one hand as she crawled towards the edge of the bed.  She preferred long gowns for when she was in the Common Room, likely to run into someone else, but while sleeping they had the very annoying habit of creeping up around her waist.  Once she was confident that her backside was sufficiently covered, she dared to start getting out of the bed.  The person who slept in it normally must be one of those annoying, long-legged individuals, because the bed was high enough to need a step and didn't have one. 

Her bare feet were so chilled by the stone floor that she almost leapt back up onto the mattress.  Instead she let out a shocked gasp, apparently overhead by an unseen someone in the room.  "Up so early, Miss Granger?"

She spun around to find Professor Snape studying her from a high backed chair next to his hearth. A thick book lay opened in his lap, a snifter of some golden liquid on the table by his side.  She swallowed, uncertain of what the proper behaviour was for a girl in her night dress while standing in her professor's bedchamber.  Her fingers started twisting the fine muslin of her gown as she tried to think of something to say.  Words failed her.

"It is not yet four o'clock.  Go back to bed and finish sleeping, Miss Granger."  He lowered his eyes back to his book and resumed his reading.  Conditioned to always obey those with authority over her, she started to turn back towards the bed, only to stop.  

"What about you, Professor?"

He looked up at her again, one brow arched.  "I have not slept in some time.  I have not been afforded the peace to do so.  You, however, are expected to continue your previous performance academically and will need your sleep in order to meet those expectations.  Get back into bed."

"But... that's your bed, Professor."  She instantly wished she could take the words back and looked down at the floor before her.  

"I didn't think you would appreciate the Potions Master carrying you up to Gryffindor Tower, and you were not in need of Madame Pomfrey's ministrations."

"Oh."  She chewed on her bottom lip as she called to mind the events of the evening.  "I had another nightmare, didn't I?"

She heard the book close. "A nightmare?  Miss Granger, what you are experiencing is quite a bit different from a nightmare.  You are having visions, like most people of your bloodline.  Nasty, annoying things, but they are a fate you cannot escape.  I'm sure you wish that you could, when you consider the nature of them."  The girl flinched as though struck.  "Draining them away into a pensieve is not going to make them untrue.  You need to confront them."

She gave a short, bitter laugh.  "Confront them.  They're an abomination.  That… that _thing raped my grandmother."_

"And had he not, your father would not have been born, nor would you have been."

Her head snapped up.  "And you think that makes it all right?"

"No, nothing can rectify rape.  I merely wish to point out that even out of the ugliest of crimes, there can be beauty.  In this case, it was a child, who eventually grew up to have his own child, a brilliant and promising girl who has grown up to become a brilliant and promising young woman.  You are coming into your own, Hermione.  Now we have a much larger threat hanging over us."

She swallowed, worrying the fabric of her night gown again.  "Then you think that it's accurate, what the dreams are showing me."

"It makes sense.  I have often wondered if there couldn't be an explanation as to why you were so powerful.  You put the purebloods in this school to shame.  They simply cannot keep up."  He set the book aside and reached for the decanter next to him.  A second glass had been sitting unseen behind it, now revealed as he removed the crystal stopper and poured.  Resetting the stopper, he took hold of the second glass and offered it to the girl.  "Here, this will help.  However, I would strongly caution against mentioning it to Minerva in the morning.  She'd likely geld me for it."  Hermione crossed the floor and took hold of the glass, then sat in a chair he offered her.  The golden liquid seemed to come alive in the firelight just before she took a sip.  It burned as it went down her throat, causing her to wince, but she managed not to cough or sputter.

Severus studied the girl in silence for a long moment before finally speaking again.  "If you are as clever as everyone believes you to be, you will not surrender the memories of the visions.  You will need them."

"Need them for what purpose?"

He leaned forward, his hair shifting to frame his pale face.  "Life being what it is, Miss Granger, Voldemort will eventually learn about you.  This is war and spies are everywhere, for both sides.  Once he _does learn about you, he will want you.  The more you see of him now, the more you will come to understand his madness as well as his intelligence, therefore the better off you'll be."_

She studied the liquor in her glass.  "But what use would I be to him?  My loyalties lie with Professor Dumbledore and Harry."

"A very good question."  He leaned back in this chair, looking at her over his tented fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his seat.  "What good is a granddaughter with your potential?  If she cannot be brought to heel or beaten into submission, what use could a strong, _fertile_ young woman of good bloodlines be to a patriarch obsessed with building his own dynasty?"  Her head snapped up, a look of disgust on her face.  "I doubt he would stoop to incest, Hermione, but he would not be above selecting, in his opinion, a suitable husband for you.  Or perhaps you fancy being the next Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Malfoy!?"  The thought was too absurd to consider, but Snape arched one jet brow.

"Surely you don't think Draco's bile towards you is fuelled only by the fact that he believes you to be Muggleborn.  Put yourself in his place.  You find yourself attending school with an attractive girl your age who is brilliant as well as powerful.  She is the top of your class and will no doubt make a name for herself in our world, bringing prestige to both herself and to whatever lucky wizard convinces her to marry him.  She is everything you would wish to bring home to your family, except there is one annoying thing about her that makes her wholly unsuitable."  He took a sip of his cognac and let her stew over his words for a moment.  "I've no doubt that it annoys Lucius as well.  The Malfoys believe they deserve only the best, and you certainly qualify in that respect.  Now that the lack of a wizarding family has been dealt with, he would encourage a union between you and his son."

"I cannot even begin to explain how repulsive an idea that is."

He chuckled, a surprising sound coming from him. "I can imagine.  Although young Mister Malfoy is physically attractive, his personality cancels that out.  However, Lucius Malfoy is Voldemort's current favourite.  It is not too far a stretch of the imagination to realize that your grandfather would be all too willing to reward his loyalty by joining the Malfoy and Riddle bloodlines."

She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.  This time she did cough, but only once.  Automatically, Severus refilled the glass and sat in silence as she drained that one as well.  She gave the liquor a chance to begin to affect her, waiting for that slight detached feeling in her body before daring to speak again.  "What do I do?"

"I have already told you.  You study your visions, pick them apart.  You learn your enemy inside and out, know him as well or better than you know yourself.  Discover how Helena managed to hide from him for all these years, what steps she took to shield your father's existence from the Dark Lord.  Arm yourself, Hermione."  He leaned forward, resting his elbow onto his knees, his ends of his dark hair sweeping against his chin.  "I will do my best to help you.  Minerva means well, she cares for you as though you were her own child.  I believe she sees her younger self in you, bright and shining and full of promise.  However, you need more than Gryffindor courage to win this battle.  You need to learn how to scheme and plot like a Slytherin.  McGonagall is too straightforward for that, too honest.  Best you learn from a master."

She considered this for a time, her brown eyes meeting his jet black ones.  "You're right.  Beat him at his own game or end up married and pregnant by the age of twenty."

Snape gave a snort.  "That, Miss Granger, would be a tragedy, especially if the father of the child were Draco Malfoy.  And before you think of someone else, Potter and Weasley are both abominable choices as well.  For that matter, forget everyone in your own class and everyone who has graduated from Hogwarts over the last ten years.  You would be wasted on someone your own age.  Oh, I'm not saying you should take a vow of celibacy; it would be a crime against our world all together should you not pass on your genes to at least one or two children, but don't forget that witches can safely bear children a good ten to twenty years longer than Muggle women.  For everyone's sake, you should live your life and carve out your place in this world.  Once that is accomplished, find yourself a wizard who is several years your senior and who has already made his own life, someone who doesn't need a woman to be a mirror for his own accomplishments but who can appreciate you for the unique creature that you are."

She blinked, uncertain of how to respond to that.  It was a compliment, she was certain of that, and a rather complex one.  She had never really thought of such things, of marriage and children.  It had all seemed so far in the future, and now here was an adult who was telling her to keep it in the future, to set it up on a shelf until such time as she was ready.  "Oh."

He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed out of place coming from the Potions Master.  "But you are right; for now you need to concentrate on beating Voldemort at his own game.  Who better to do so than his own flesh and blood?  The cleverness needed to do so were born in your.  You only have to learn the needed skills."  He sat back and reached over to his own forgotten glass.  "The immediate concern, however, is your rest.  It is far too early for you to be awake.  Go back to bed, Hermione.  We've the entire weekend to start our work."  It was a dismissal, but not a stinging one.  She knew he would not speak to her again this evening, and she realized that she didn't want to.  The liquor was relaxing her, making her drowsy.  Muffling a yawn, she got up from the chair and padded back across the room to the large bed.  She struggled only a moment to climb the heavy frame before burrowing herself within the thick covers.  Now that she was certain she was safe, she allowed herself to snuggle down within the luxurious bedclothes, noting that they held a scent of patchouli and sandalwood.  It was a masculine and oddly comforting fragrance.

~***~

"Father?  Are you going to see them?"

Thomas Wiggentree turned and looked up at the top of the grand staircase with a smile.  Alexander stood there, the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass window behind him setting his honey curls aflame.  "See whom?"  His smile was teasing as his son rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"_Them!_  The Cousins!  The ones Grandfather was telling us about."  The boy came down the steps, his gloved hand running along the smooth wood of the banister.  "You are going to see them, aren't you?"

Thomas chuckled warmly.  "Yes, Alex.  I'm meeting them for tea.  I admit that I'm quite anxious to meet them myself."

"Will _she_ be there?"  Brown eyes were alight with curiosity as his son nibbled worryingly on his bottom lip.

"No, Hermione won't be there.  She's at Hogwarts."

"Oh, that's right.  She's at school."  Alex looked down at his gloved hands and frowned.  Thomas felt his heart twist in sorrow for his handsome son, cursing again the unfairness of the Wiggentree 'gift' and how it cut off innocents from the world.  "Do… do you think you might ask them for something?"

"Ask them for what?"

"Oh, I don't know.  A doll, perhaps, or maybe a book she used to read often as a child.  If she… if she didn't take it with her to school, you might ask them for her pillow."

Thomas chuckled again.  "I think that we shouldn't be asking for pillows just yet, Alex.  After all, they didn't even know they were Wiggentrees until just a few days ago.  I doubt that our cousin has had a chance to realize that he should have been born a wizard.  We shouldn't go asking him for such a personal item from his daughter just yet."

"You're right, I suppose.  Maybe a doll, then?  She's a girl, isn't she?  Surely she had a doll while she was growing up, or some stuffed toy or another.  I… I want to _see_ her."  Alex looked at his father expectantly, worrying his lip again.

"I'll ask them, but don't be too disheartened if they refuse at first.  If they do, however, you could always dictate a letter to send to her at school.  Maybe she could send you one of her old assignments or one of her quills."

The boy's face brightened.  "I hadn't thought of that.  I'll do that as well, and then I can get a glimpse of what it's like to go to Hogwarts as well.  Thanks, Dad."  He turned away and hurried up the stairs, heading for the small classroom where his tutor gave him his lessons.  Thomas smiled and placed his bowler hat atop his head.  Checking his appearance in the hallway mirror once more, he straightened his tie and removed a small piece of his wife's embroidery floss from his lapel.  The mirror commented on how refined he was looking today.

With a pop, he apparated to Diagon Alley, wishing to pick up a little something before he went to the Grangers' residence.  He didn't wish to be a rude guest and show up without a little something.  Nothing large or extravagant, he was thinking along the lines of a small glass sculpture with moving stars and galaxies inside it, tasteful and elegant.  Not knowing much about his newly found relatives, he wasn't sure what they would appreciate.  However, since all information so far regarding Hermione pointed out that she was quite intelligent and possessed a love for learning, it was reasonably safe to assume her parents were just as intelligent.  

A small shop at the corner where Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley met was where he needed to go.  The wizard who owned it was a collector and merchant in all manner of artistic creations, even the creator of a few.  After looking for a little over one half of an hour, he settled on a piece that was a smooth, curving shape about a foot tall.  Inside it was black with stars and planets moving as though swimming through a thick potion.  The simple design would blend easily with any décor.

"Thomas Wiggentree, this is a pleasant surprise.  I can't remember the last time you came out amongst us commoners."  The voice was like silk over steel, gentle and lethal all at the same time.  Tom looked up from his purchase and found himself meeting the gaze of Lucius Malfoy.  Not exactly a pleasant experience.

"You're memory is going on you, Lucius.  I saw you just two weeks ago, at the conference in Lisbon."

"Ah yes, of course.  You gave a lecture on your proposal that mediwizards extend a hand to Muggle scientists in medical research.  Quite… amusing."  The man gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes, one gloved hand resting on the head of his cane.  "It's fortunate that I ran into you.  There are some business matters I wish to discuss.  Perhaps you could join me for a quick drink?"

"I'm sorry, but I have a prior engagement."  He wrapped his purchase himself, something that Wiggentrees also insisted upon.  Though Thomas wasn't one of the family forced to avoid contact with unknown objects at all times, it never hurt to be careful.

"Surely you could find enough time for one drink, Tom, between friends."

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that they had never been 'friends', but even Lucius Malfoy was not deserving of such rudeness.  With a barely audible sigh, he agreed.  "Just one, but then I'll really have to be going."  He knew it was foolish, but old wizarding families followed the same painful rules of etiquette that had been in place for centuries.  Together they walked a few doors down the way, deeper towards Knockturn Alley to a small and exclusive private club that only those of established lineage could gain entrance too.  It had been several generations since the Wiggentrees had felt the need for such displays of snobbery, but Malfoy had his own private room.  They were greeted at the door by a distinguished wizard in formal robes and led to the room, a decanter of brandy brought to them by a house elf clad in a freshly pressed, crisp table linen.  

Malfoy sat down and poured the drinks himself.  Thomas noted that he didn't remove his own gloves as he did so, not touching any part of the heavy crystal with his own skin.  The crystal itself glittered in the gentle light of the hearth as though it were new and unblemished by age.  Even the chairs they rested in were of a modern style, the leather still fresh with a new scent.  It appeared that everything in the room was a recent purchase, as though it had been newly redecorated only the day before.  A shiver of dread trickled down his spine.

"It has been some time since the Malfoys and the Wiggentrees have had the chance to converse with one another.  Even in Lisbon we had little time to talk."  He offered the drink over in one steady hand.  Thomas accepted it with a polite nod, hoping that he appeared more confident that he truly was.  Surely Malfoy wouldn't be foolish enough to poison him.  There would be too many questions asked should he simply disappear.

"It was a hectic time for everyone speaking at the conference.  Medicine and healing are ever changing areas."  The liquor did not show any signs of discoloration and it didn't give the appearance of being watered down.  He swirled it in the glass, noting the colour in the light cast by the faceted crystal before lifting it up to his lips.  He sniffed it slightly in what he hoped was a discreet manner before he took a sip.  It burned and tasted exactly like fine quality brandy, nothing out of the unusual at all.  Relaxing somewhat, he allowed himself to enjoy the flavour.

"Yes it is and a rather lucrative one.  I've been considering investing more of the family holdings in that field.  However, it is wise to seek the consul of someone who already has a firm grasp of it."  Malfoy sipped from his own glass, his eyes never seeming to stray from Thomas.  "I believe you and Albert are the ones heading most of your family's interest in this field.  By the way, how is your father?"

"He's never been better."  The brandy was giving the most pleasant tingling sensation, relaxing all over.  Though he still wouldn't trust Lucius Malfoy any further than he could throw the man, physically anyway, he had to admit that there was something most enjoyable about socializing with someone outside of family or work.

"Good.  One can never know with the older generations.  We so often forget that they aren't as young as they were in our youth.  Take Albus Dumbledore, for example.  If you speak with the man you can hardly recall that he is at least one hundred years of age, and yet he is expected to keep up with all those children."  Malfoy took another sip from his glass.  "I understand that your father and aunt paid a call on him recently at the school."

That was dangerous ground, given the topic of discussion between Dumbledore and the family.  He would need to steer Lucius away from that line of thought.  "Yes, they were."

The cut glass tumble feel from Thomas' hand, spilling its contents into the thick carpeting of the floor as his eyes flew wide.   The pleasant tingle was now clear, and it had nothing at all to do with alcohol, nor had it anything to do with poison.  Though he had clearly intended to deny his father's presence at Hogwarts, the truth had come through his lips.  Malfoy smirked and made a wave towards the door behind them, the soft click of the lock cutting through the crackle of the fire.  

Veritaserum.  How could he have been so foolish?

Malfoy set his own glass down and reclaimed his cane.  He leaned back in his chair and spun the black wood between his hands, a superior smirk on his face.  "Now, Thomas… let us discuss your family's interests with Dumbledore.  I'm most anxious to hear all about them."


	5. Return of the Poison Quill

_Dear Alex:_

_I'm very please to have heard from you.  Of course I'll send you some of my school things.  I've bought a new quill, so I'm sending you my old one.  I also got a new book bag so you I could send you the one I've been using for the past two years.  That was Harry's idea.  He thought that you might be able to get some idea of my various classes.  I hope that you find what you're looking for with these items.  _

_Mum and Dad wrote me to say that we'll be celebrating Christmas with your family this year.  I can't wait to meet you in person.  Perhaps by that time I'll have something else from school to give you._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

She folded up the parchment once the ink was dry and placed it on top of the collection of odds and ends before sealing the box and wrapping it in paper.  Harry came in with Hedwig perched on his arm as she was tying it all up with string.  "Thanks for letting me borrow her, Harry.  Pig simply isn't big enough to carry this."

"You're welcome to use her any time.  She loves the exercise."  Harry ran the back of his fingers over Hedwig's gleaming white breast feathers.  She preened under the show of affection.  "Did it all fit?"

"I had to do a shrinking charm on the bag, but everything else fit like a dream."  She smiled as Hedwig fluttered over to land atop the box, curling her talons around the string.  "Thank you for doing this, Hedwig.  I'll have an entire bag of treats waiting for you when you get home."  Hedwig hooted in acknowledgment, and then took off, leaving the common room through an open window.  

"Ready for lunch?  Ron and Ginny already headed down to the hall."

"Great, I'm starving."  Hermione cinched up her new satchel and slung it over her shoulder.  

"No wonder. I don't think you've remembered to eat more than one meal a day since school started up again."  He grinned at her, opening the door to hold it for her.  Together they made their way through the open halls of the school and down to the Great Hall.  Sure enough, Ron and Ginny were there, saving seats for them at the Gryffindor table.

"They've got roast beef and chicken today."  Ron grinned widely as he piled his plate high.  "Your favourites."  

"I believe those are your favourites, Ron."  Hermione grinned at him, but she still claimed a chicken breast as well as a slice of the roast.  She did enjoy them, along with the roast potatoes and honeyed carrots.  The house elves were brilliant in the kitchen, though it still rankled her a bit that they weren't paid for their efforts.  At least here at Hogwarts they were treated well.  She knew that some house elves were often abused and tormented by their owners, such as Dobby was before Harry had so cleverly figured out a way to trick Lucius Malfoy into freeing him.  Now the elf was a frequent guest in Gryffindor Tower, having taken a paid position at the school.  He worked as hard as ever, but he still had time for his friends.  "Pass me a roll please, Ginny."

They enjoyed their lunch, occasionally talking about the Quidditch match coming up on Saturday or discussing some little bit of a class.  Ron, Harry and Hermione all had Care of Magical Creatures next; Ginny was to go to Charms.  "Professor Flitwick is quizzing us on some of our first year charms today.  Harry has been helping me practise all this past weekend."  She grinned at Hermione.  "I'm trying to beat your old score."

"If anyone can do it, you can."  Ron beamed proudly at his little sister.  Hermione also smiled encouragingly.  Ginny was a bright student and in the top of her fellow Gryffindors, though the top student for the sixth years was a Ravenclaw.  She was also a prefect, having gotten Hermione's old position when she was made Head Girl.  Her badge shone brightly on her robes, brand new this year as a reward from her parents.  If she kept at it, Hermione had no doubt that Ginny would be named Head Girl in her next year.  Wouldn't that make Molly Weasley proud as a peacock; a Head Girl for a daughter to go with her two Head Boy sons.  What the Weasleys lacked in monetary wealth they more than made up for in cleverness and talent.  

The sound of a barn owl's screech drew attention in the hall upwards.  It was time for the mail.  Dozens of birds in all shapes and sizes began to pour through the windows built especially for them in the high points of the ceiling.  Packages fell from taloned feet and owls caringly letters landed on the tables before their intended recipients.  Hermione caught her copy of _The Daily Prophet with her left hand as she took another bite of carrot with her right.  She set the paper down, planning to read it later.  _

"Can I see that, Hermione?  I want to see how the Cannons did last night."  Ron smiled when she nodded and took the paper in his hands.  Untying the string and unrolling it, he immediately turned it over to the sports section in the back.  He read it by holding it in one hand as he devoured his potatoes.  

Hermione asked Harry about his Potions essay, rolling her eyes when he told her that he hadn't done it yet.  "Honestly, are you trying to give Professor Snape a reason to slap you with a detention?  You know he will."

"Well, who am I to deny the man one of the few joys he has in life?"  Harry gave her a playful grin, pointedly ignoring the fact that Ginny was giving him a scolding look almost identical to Hermione's. 

"You should try to behave a bit better around him, Harry.  He's not all that bad."

Ron dropped the paper and gawked at her.  "Not all that bad.  Are you forgetting all the times he slapped me or Harry with a detention?  How about how he pointedly ignores you when you're the only one who knows the answer?  The man's a menace."

"He's only trying to get the rest of you to think on your own."  She ignored propriety and reached over him for the gravy boat.  "You can't depend on me for all the answers."

"Who says?"

"Ron!  I've half a mind to tell Mum on you."  Ginny was now glaring at her brother.  "Have you been cheating off of Hermione all this time?"

"What, are you mad?  Hermione is dead set against cheating.  Believe me, we've tried."  Hermione only grinned and placed the gravy boat down.  "Can you believe it?"  Ron had turned his attention back to the paper, "The Cannons actually managed to beat the Wasps.  That puts them in the running for the next World Cup.  They just have to beat Puddlemere."

"That won't be easy.  Oliver's still Keeper for Puddlemere."  Ron shot Harry a disgruntled look, not liking that he was torn between a former fellow Gryffindor and his favourite team.

Hermione was cutting one of her potatoes with her fork when she felt the intangible weight of someone's eyes upon her.  She looked up and saw a couple of girls at the Ravenclaw table studying her, whispering to one another over their copy of the paper.  When they saw that she had caught them, they quickly averted their gazes.  She frowned, and went back to her lunch.  "How is Oliver these days, Harry?  Are you still exchanging letters?"

"Oh, he's great!  Now that he's on the team and no longer a reserve he's really able to show what he can do.  Although, I think he's getting a bit embarrassed by all the girls that have taken to following him around.  He never had as much time for girls as he did for Quidditch."

"Definitely a man who needs to sort out his priorities.  I mean, Quidditch is great, but a man needs a good snog every now and again."  Ron grinned unabashedly at the glare Hermione gave him.  Something caught his eye behind her, however, and he frowned.  "Oy!  What are you staring at?"

Hermione looked to see a group of Slytherin boys whispering low and pointing over in their direction.  She frowned again.  "What's with everyone today?  Did my hair change colour overnight or something?"

"Nope, still the same colour.  Ginny won't go in on our ideas for pranks.  Ouch!"  Harry rubbed the spot on his shoulder Ginny had just slapped as though it hurt, though she hadn't hit him that hard.  Hermione barely noticed; she was starting to realize that a good number of people in the Great Hall were looking in their direction.  She looked more closely and noticed that many of them seemed to be looking from them to their own copies of the _Daily Prophet_.  

"Ron, can I have that back?"

"What?  Oh, sure.  Here."  He handed over the paper and she turned it over so that the front page was showing. Ron's jaw dropped open when they all spied the headline.  "Uh-oh.  Looks like your secrets out, Hermione."

Hermione stared in mute shock as she looked down at bold print that spelled out _"Fifty Year Hogwarts Mystery Solved!"_   Rita Skeeter's name was just below it, the black ink seeming more ominous than anything Hermione had ever seen.  The headline wasn't as disturbing as the two black and white wizard photos beneath it, one of herself and the other of Helena Wiggentree.  They were copies of the photos that had been taken when each of them had been made Head Girl, identical badges displayed proudly on the chests of two almost identical girls.  She was still in shock when Ginny pulled the paper over to herself and began to read it aloud. 

"Fifty years ago the wizarding community was sent reeling when one of its most promising young witches vanished without a trace.  Helen Wiggentree, Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was a favourite daughter of the esteemed Wiggentree family.  Having excelled in all of her classes, it had been expected that she would follow one of the two paths her family is still famous for, either entering the field of mediwizardry or becoming an auror, thus putting the family's gift of Reverse Divination to it's best use.  However, shortly after graduating from school, Helena ran away after emptying her private vault at Gringotts and taking most of the priceless jewellery left to her by her grandmother.  The investigation was long and thorough, but Miss Wiggentree's wand was never used again, thus giving the Ministry of Magic nothing to trace.  Eventually she was declared dead and a memorial service was held in her honour.  The family mourned their child and eventually moved on.

"All that changed this year when Miss Hermione Granger, the current Head Girl at Hogwarts, began to exhibit signs of Reverse Divination.  A reliable source informs that Miss Granger was woken in the night after having had a very vivid dream involving her grandmother during her time at Hogwarts.  Having grown up believing she was the first witch in her family, Hermione delved further into the mystery until she uncovered a magical trunk in her parents' home containing old school things.  Upon returning to school this year she reportedly took the matter up with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, and it was confirmed that Hermione's grandmother was the missing Helena Wiggentree.

"Our source continues to say that the Wiggentrees have welcomed the Grangers into their family with open arms and are taking an active interest in Hermione Granger.  Still, there were unanswered questions remaining, such as why Helena Wiggentree would have runaway in the first place and why would it take so long for Hermione Granger to start exhibiting signs of a talent most Wiggentrees are forced to struggle with at a very young age.  Always one seeking answers, this reporter braved the Muggle records halls to seek out more information on the Grangers.  What she found was a complete lack of evidence that Helena Wiggentree ever married a 'Mr. Granger'.  Fifty years ago giving birth out of wedlock would have been an unbearable shame, even for a family as powerful as the Wiggentrees.  This would lead one to believe that the girl fled in an attempt to escape the shame.  Also, since Hermione Granger's father has never shown signs of magic, it would seem likely that the unnamed father was either a Muggle or Squib.  Perhaps she ran to the Muggle world hoping that her lover would marry her and give her son a proper name.

"As for the delay in Hermione Granger's gift, this reporter approached Horace Harrington, chief mediwizard at St. Mungo's.  'I made the Wiggentree Family Curse my choice of study for my final paper at the university.  Calling upon what I know of this particular power, I would point out that most Wiggentrees are raised close to the core family and are exposed to the knowledge that Reverse Divination is a part of their lives since the day of their birth.  As for Miss Granger, she was raised in the Muggle world, ignorant of her true origins.  Doubtless she had the gift all along, but since she seems to only have them while sleeping, her mind most likely treated them as any other dream, forgotten shortly after waking.  I would theorize that the receipt of her Head Girl badge must have triggered the gift inside her, made it stronger.   Helena Wiggentree was Head Girl herself, something that Miss Granger possibly dreamed of over one hundred times.  Receiving her own Head Girl position would have given her a present day link to her past-time visions, bringing them more sharply into focus.'

"The Wiggentree Family refused to comment on the newest members of their family. Miss Granger was unavailable for comment given that the press has been banned from the Hogwarts grounds by the current Headmaster since the Tri-Wizard Tournament a few years ago.  However, this reporter will continue to seek out the facts and bring them to you as all eyes now turn to Hogwarts' present Head Girl."

Hermione, Harry and Ron were all silent as Ginny finished reading and took to glaring at the paper.  It was Harry who broke the silence.  "Well, at least she didn't embellish it this time.   She seems to remember your threats to expose her as an animagi if she fell back to twisting the truth again, but it certainly didn't take her long to jump on the first thing she could about you when she got the chance."

"Wonder who her 'reliable source' is.  Do you think one of your new cousins told?"  Ron reached for the paper to look at the photos.

"No, they wouldn't have.  They wouldn't want… they just wouldn't have." 

"Well, you can bet Dumbledore wouldn't have said anything without asking you first, and certainly never to Rita Skeeter.  Would you parents have said something?"

"Of course not, Ron.  They're still trying to wrap their minds around the fact that my grandmother was a witch and never said anything.  She didn't even say anything to me, and I was at least six when she took ill."

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it now."  Ginny gave her friend a reassuring smile.  "It was bound to come out some day."

"She's right, Hermione.  Don't know why you didn't want it told to begin with."  Harry caught sight of the Slytherin table to see Draco Malfoy staring at the back of Hermione's head.  "Then again, maybe I do.  Looks like Malfoy just found you a great deal more interesting."

Hermione didn't turn around, but she did turn a bit paler in colour.  "Malfoy?  Oh damn.  This is bad."

"Why, at least he can't call you 'mudblood' anymore?"  Ron looked up from the paper.  "It's amazing how much you look like her, Hermione.  Can't imagine why the teachers didn't see it before."

"It has been a long time."  Hermione gathered herself back together and looked down at her plate.  She wasn't very hungry any longer.  With a sigh, she pushed the plate away.  "I'd better go.  There's some research I want to get done."

Harry glanced back over at Malfoy, who seemed to have noticed that Hermione was bending down for her books and was now reaching for his own.  "How about Ron and me walk you there?"

"Thanks, Harry, but that's not really necessary."

Ginny had looked where Harry had and swallowed one last mouthful.  "Oh, let them, Hermione.  Mind if I join you?  I have some studying I need to get done as well."  She reached down and grabbed her own satchel.  When she looked back up she saw that Harry was giving her a grateful smile.  She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

Ron had wondered why Harry was willing to stop eating after he had just arrived when he saw Malfoy getting up from his own table.  He suddenly got it and chased down a bite of roast with a swig of pumpkin juice before wiping his mouth clean and getting up.  "Yeah, let's go there together.  It's not that far out of the way and Harry and me were just going to Quidditch practice."  He stood up and waited for Hermione and Ginny to walk by, then he and Harry exchanged a look before they gave a glance at Malfoy.  Draco glared at them, but halted, seemingly unwilling to make a scene.  If he followed them into the library, he would have to behave himself or face the wrath and Madame Pince.  As for how the girls would get back, this was Hermione they were dealing with.  She would still be there when practice was over, ready to be walked back.  

The four students moved down the length of the table just as Professor Snape claimed his own chair.  His own copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was waiting for him.  Hermione's eyes moved up to look at him as he unfolded it and surveyed the front page.  His own gaze snapped up and locked with hers in a silent understanding before he inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.  He didn't need to call her to him just now, they would discuss this later when her friends were not around.

The game just became a good deal more treacherous.


	6. Old Faces Meet

"Why do you make this so hard on yourself?"

The voice was now too well known for her comfort.  Hermione opened her eyes, hoping that she was waking up, but realized she was standing in a dusty, unused classroom.  The only light provided was moonlight cascading through the windows.  It filtered through as a silver shimmer, illuminating a lumpy shape sitting underneath one of the casements.  She frowned and moved closer until she could make what it was.  Riddle sat with his back against the cool stone of the wall, the skin of his shoulders kissed by the pale light.  He had Helena pulled up against him, her head resting on his chest and her body covered in his school robe which they were using like a blanket.  Hermione's heart lurched as she saw the defeated expression on her grandmother's face, her eyes staring blankly out of the window.  

"I don't understand you, Helena.  Any other girl in school would kill to be where you are."  He ran his long fingers through her hair and placed a kiss to her temple.  She gave no response.  "Why can't you see that I'm offering you the world?"  Hermione shuddered as he moved his hand downward, underneath the robe to caress Helena.  "Don't you know that I'd give you anything?"

There didn't seem to be any fight left in Helena.  What time did this take place?  How far into the term was this?  Hermione frowned and peered at her grandmother.  The dark circles were already there and her cheeks were sunken as if from a lack of food.  Her hair not only wasn't as vibrant as it had been, it was becoming lank and lifeless.  She walked over to the windows, passing through a desk, and peered out.  Though it was dark, the moonlight revealed that there wasn't any snow or ice, no signs of winter.  It must be at least Spring, moving on into the last part of the term.  Graduation would follow soon, along with Helena's disappearance.

"I have something for you."  Riddle moved his hand out from under his robe and slipped it into one of the pockets.  He pulled out a long, slim box and brought it over so that he was holding it in front of Helena.  He opened it and took out a necklace, something green and glittering dangling from a slim, silver chain.  "See?  I thought of you the second I saw it."  He dangled the necklace in front of her eyes, drawing them away from the window.  "I know the Gryffindor in you would prefer rubies and gold, but I'm rather partial to emeralds.  Sit up."  She obeyed with a listless move and he fastened the necklace around her neck before pulling her back down against him.  He reached around and adjusted the large emerald so that it hung where the valley between her breasts began.  "There… perfect."

~***~

The rustle of feathers and a soft weight landing beside her head on the pillow woke her.  She opened her eyes and found herself staring into the golden eyes of Hedwig.  She didn't even have time to be thankful that this vision was less violent before she noticed that there was a letter attached to the owl's leg.  She propped herself up onto her elbow and untied the bit of ribbon that held it there, noting the Wiggentree family crest pressed into the wax seal.  "Thank you, Hedwig."  She stretched her arm across the beside table and pulled open the drawer there to get out a bag of owl treats.  She opened them and poured them out onto the table for the owl to eat before breaking the seal.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I received your package and I thank you.  Actually, my tutor received your package and I'm still trying to convince her to let me touch them.  I can't write for very long because I've got other things on my mind.  My father is missing.  He had gone out to join your parents for tea, but he never showed up at their home.  Have they written you anything about it?  We thought perhaps he had just gotten side tracked or had been delayed by the Ministry to do a reading, but then that article came out about you in the _Daily Prophet_ and now we're not as certain.  Please let us know if you hear of anything or if you see anything._

_Be careful,_

_Alex_

Hermione swallowed.  One of her cousins was missing?  That could explain the Skeeter article. She doubted that Thomas would have told, but if someone had gotten to him…  She felt an icy shiver run down her back, followed by a gnawing feeling of guilt.  Had Thomas Wiggentree been murdered because of her?  But how could anyone have known enough to look into the Wiggentree family?  It was relatively certain that Voldemort was unaware of what happened to Helena; otherwise his followers would have shown up on her family's doorstep ages ago.

She should tell Professor Dumbledore.  Throwing off the covers she dressed quickly, ripping a brush through her unruly curls and twisting it up into a haphazard sort of bun.  She gripped the letter in her teeth as she pulled on her robes and grabbed her satchel, the sharp taste of toothpaste still strong in her mouth.  It would be another hour before the rest of the students woke up, but she felt certain that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind the intrusion.  She sometimes wondered if he ever really slept.  Down the spiral staircase and through the common room, finally exiting through the port hole, she heard the Fat Lady tut.  "You're going to run yourself to an early grave by keeping these hours."

"Oh, I'll be fine, but I'll promise you that I'll spend a day in the hospital wing to rest if it gets too much for me."  She gave the portrait a winning smile, only to have the Fat Lady snort. 

"Sure you will."

The corridors were cold and silent, and her footsteps echoed off the walls as clearly as a bell's ringing.  She read through the brief note again as she walked on.  "Going somewhere, Granger?"  She halted and looked around.  Draco stepped out of a side corridor, the torchlight flickering off of his pale hair.  There was an un-pleasant looking smirk on his face.  "Bit early to be out, isn't it?"

"You should talk."

"Catching up on some last minute studying," he explained, shrugging his shoulder to indicate his heavy satchel.  Of course he studied; he wasn't that far behind her.  He leaned casually against a wall, raking his eyes over her in a way that looked as though he thought she knew what she looked like in only her knickers.  "Interesting article in the paper the other day.  How does it feel, suddenly learning that you're part of one of the pure blood lines?"

She affected what she hoped was a nonchalant manner and shrugged.  "I don't feel any differently than I did when I was just a mudblood."  She hoped her tone was bored enough.  To her surprise, he frowned.  It appeared genuine.

"I should never have called you that.  I suppose my only reason is that I was young and stupid, didn't know any better.  All I can do is ask you to forgive me."

She hesitated.  Malfoy?  Apologizing?  What was with the Slytherins lately?  First Snape gives her a compliment and offers to help her through this in a way only he can and now Malfoy was apologizing.  If she hadn't studied the Wiggentree Curse as much as she had, she would have wondered if her newfound family couldn't also alter the behaviour of others.  Then Snape's words about the Malfoys came crashing back in on her.  She collected herself and offered a slight smile.  "Of course, Malfoy.  It's a rather silly thing to hold a grudge over anyway."

Draco stared at her in silence for a bit longer, and then smiled.  "Very Gryffindor of you, Hermione."  He pushed away from the wall and moved towards her.  Her instinct was to back away, but she forced herself to remain still.  He came to a stop a few feet in front of her.  "Where are you off to at this hour?"

"I… I was just going to run down to the kitchens to grab a little something before hitting the books myself."  

The stammer at the beginning was regrettable, she was sure he noticed it.  However, he seemed to be willing to accept this as he tilted his head to one side, his smile becoming friendlier.  "And excellent idea.  I think I'll join you.  I've always wondered where the kitchens were.  I suppose you've been down there loads of times with Potter and Weasley."  He even managed to say their names normally, not spit them out like poison.  "Come on then."  

There was nothing to be done for it.  She didn't really want him to know that she was going to the Headmaster, not at this hour.  He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't take the chance of rousing a teacher from sleep for a silly reason and would be determined to accompany her.  She tore her eyes away from his, licked her lips, and then headed off towards the kitchens without saying another word.  They made the trip in complete silence until they had reached the still life paining of fruit.  She tickled the pear until it turned itself into a door handle and pulled open the entrance to the kitchens.  

The house elves were already scurrying here and there, busily preparing the various forms of dough which would become pastries and cakes.  Some were already working on the breads which would need time to rise before baking and becoming part of the later meals.  Draco looked around, obviously impressed by the sheer number of house elves in the school kitchens when a loud crash drew his attention.  Hermione turned towards it as well and saw an elf with big, bulging green eyes and a long, pencil-shaped nose staring at them, his long fingered hands covering his mouth.  There was little to distinguish this elf from all the others except that he wore, not a Hogwarts pillowcase, but a pair of tiny shorts, a knobby maroon sweater and mismatched socks which peeked over a pair of child sized shoes.  

"Dobby?"  Malfoy's eyes were disbelieving as he stared at his old house elf in amazement.  As he watched, Dobby ran forward and ducked around Hermione's legs so that he stood between her and Draco.  He started to back up, nudging Hermione to move away from the Slytherin student and towards one of the long tables which mirrored the ones in the Great Hall above.

"Dobby is surprised to be seeing you, Young Master.  Dobby did not expect to see you in the kitchens at school when Dobby never saw you in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor."

"Never had a need to be.  I had wondered what happened to you, Dobby.  Father said that Potter tricked him into freeing you."  He looked over the house elf, apparently amused at the obvious display of protectiveness he seemed to be showing Hermione, and also apparently amused at the mismatched clothes.  "Looks as though freedom suits you.  How long have you been here?"

The elf looked from Hermione to Draco before answering.  "Dobby has come to Hogwarts two years after Young Master's father freed him, sir.  Albus Dumbledore said Dobby could work here when no other family would pay him, sir."

"Pay you?"  The idea of this seemed to hover just out of the reach of comprehension for Malfoy.  He looked at Hermione, shock evident on his features, the expression so unlike him that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.  His grey eyes moved back to the elf.  "Dumbledore _pays you?"_

"Yes sir."  Dobby puffed out his chest proudly.  "Dobby is paid three galleons a week, sir."

"Three?"  Hermione looked at Dobby curiously.  "You've gotten a raise, then?"

"Oh, yes miss!"  Dobby turned his giant eyes upon her, grinning broadly.  "Albus Dumbledore came to the kitchens and spoke to Dobby, miss.  He is saying that Dobby had worked here and done well for so long that he had earned himself a raise, miss.  He wanted to give Dobby ten galleons a week, but I is not wanting to be greedy, so I talked him down to three.  He also insisted that Dobby have an extra day a month off, Miss, and a holiday during the summer when the students is all gone.  He wanted to pay Dobby for his holiday, but I told him I is not wanting that much."

Hermione smiled, but it was a struggle not to break out into giggles.  The discomfort and nervousness at being cornered by Draco Malfoy dissolved simply by being in Dobby's presence.  It also helped that Dobby had powerful magic of his own, enough so that he had been able to flatten Lucius Malfoy when the wizard had threatened Harry during their second year.  She knew that he would never let her come to harm at Draco's hands.  Feeling better, she politely asked for some breakfast and was immediately herded towards a table and chairs.  Several elves served her and Draco, but Dobby ignored proper behaviour for a house elf and sat down with them, placing himself firmly between her and Malfoy.  

His tongue kept in check by the presence of a house elf that didn't act like a house elf, Malfoy wasn't all that horrible a breakfast companion.  As a matter of fact, if he were kept on the subject of academics and classes, he was almost pleasant.

~***~

Dobby!  Dobby was at Hogwarts!  His father had shouted curses Draco had never known existed before and promised the most painful tortures on the body of Harry Potter when the Gryffindor boy had so thoroughly outfoxed him.  It had never occurred to Draco before then that Dobby might resent the treatment he had received at the hands of Lucius Malfoy, or even the treatment Draco himself had given him.  He had grown up watching how his father dealt with the house elves and had just assumed that was how it was done.  After Dobby had been freed, Draco had expected him to return to the manor to pine away miserably as he had heard of other house elves having done when they were freed, mourning and pleading until his father took him back.  Dobby had not returned, though.  He hadn't even given the Malfoys as much as a backwards glance over his shoulder.  One slimy, dirty sock and Dobby had taken to the road as though he couldn't run fast enough to flee his family.

Later on while sitting in the library, Draco had to admit that Dobby looked happy.  His clothes were clean and well cared for, even if they were ill matched and not entirely his size.  He seemed to love his job and was happy that he was being paid.  _Paid!  He probably shouldn't tell his father that little titbit. The elf also seemed to have formed new loyalties on his own.  He was obviously faithful to Dumbledore and seemed genuinely fond of Potter.  Apparently, his affection for Potter also translated into affection for Potter's friends.  The annoying creature had sat all of breakfast between himself and Hermione, keeping them separated.  Not knowing how much of anything he may say would end up reported to the Headmaster, Draco had been forced to keep his conversation benign and uninteresting._

_Hermione_.  He had been hoping that he would eventually catch her out before dawn.  That was the reason he left the Slytherin dorms every morning before first light and hovered in a corridor on the way from the direction of Gryffindor Tower and the library.  He had known eventually she would come down early to study.  You couldn't stay at the top of the class without working for it.  During daylight it was impossible to get the girl alone, either Potter or Weasley was always by her side, or she was in the library.  

She would move into the library if she could manage it.  He could easily see her building walls for herself out of the dusty volumes, using parchments and maps for her bed and covers.  Hermione Granger ate, drank, breathed and slept learning.  Cut her and she just might bleed ink.  Combine that with a brilliant amount of magical power, and she was poised to be the greatest witch since Maab.  She might even outstrip Dumbledore, himself.  He had been jealous of that power at first, unwilling to believe it could be held by a girl with no magical parentage.  For the first three years of school he had despised her, loathed her even.  With a twinge of guilt, he even recalled how he had hoped the basilisk would kill her in their second year.

Staring at an open book before him, but not seeing the words printed there, he absently rubbed his cheek.  If he thought hard enough, he could still feel the sting of her palm where it had slapped him across the face during their third year.  The crack had been deafening.  He still recalled the fire in her eyes, the crackling light there that he doubted anyone but he noticed.  There had been violence there, waiting to spring out.  If she had been holding her wand at that moment, he had no doubt she could have reduced him to ash.  After that moment, he had been forced to admit to himself that his feelings of animosity towards her had been grounded in something far more complicated.  He didn't hate Hermione Granger because she was a Gryffindor or because she was Harry Potter's good and dear friend.  He didn't just hate her because she was a Muggleborn; he hated her because she hadn't been born a pureblood.  He hated her because he couldn't have her.

In his heart, he had cursed her.  Every time he had seen her hair shimmering as though on fire because sunlight had poured through a window and touched it from behind, he had loathed her.  Every time she had laughed with Potter and Weasley, the flowing, musical sound caught on the breeze, he had detested her.  Every time she had gotten something right in class while the pure blood students struggled and failed, he despised her.  Every time he recalled that if he even dared to try and win her heart he would have been beaten, or worse, by his own father, he wanted to hex her soul into oblivion.

And then she had had the daring, the unmitigated gall, to attend the Yule Ball on the arm of Viktor Krum.  She had dared to breeze into the hall with her hair twisted up in an elegant style, exposing her creamy, graceful neck, her budding curves draped in airy blues, smiling and lovely and completely out of reach.  It had not been Hermione he had hated that night, but the Dumstrang boy who had kept one hand at her waist, the other cradling her own delicate fingers.  Worse still, he was certain Krum's parents would no more approve of her than his would, and yet the boy seemed willing to risk it when Draco couldn't muster the courage to stand up to his mother, let alone stand up to Lucius Malfoy.  Krum had even asked her to visit him in Bulgaria over the following summer.  Draco had never learned if she had actually gone, but the romance had seemed to fail.  She was apparently free again the following school year, but not free for him.

Oh for the want of one wizarding parent.  Oh for the lack of a pure and noble blood line.  But that wasn't a problem any longer, was it?  

Draco's mouth curved in a smug, satisfied little grin.  It _wasn't_ a problem any longer.  Oh, sure neither of her parents were wizards, but his father's last letter had said something about how there were ways for a witch to stop her child from being born a wizard.  Draco wasn't sure yet why any witch would do such a thing, but that made little difference.  Hermione Granger was a _Wiggentree.  Even his own father treated that lot with respect, in spite of the fact that he detested them.  Death Eaters had feared any Auror born of that family tree, because they could __see what you had done.  The __Daily Prophet had even reported once that a Wiggentree had solved a murder that was nearly one hundred years old.  The killer had been old and decrepit by then, but he served out the rest of his days in a secure section of St. Mungo's and his fortune had been divided among the victim's surviving family. _

Granger was a Wiggentree, a daughter of a proud and powerful pure blood family.  His parents couldn't possibly find fault with her now.  She had connections with a wizarding family, and that made all the difference in the world.  He didn't think that she had anyone in her life at this time, no one with whom she was romantically involved.  And he was in the perfect position to pursue her, being Head Boy.  They would be working together often, thrown together to plan various events and oversee the prefects.  She would have to speak with him, would be required to be alone with him.  He would have six years of ridicule and snide remarks to overcome, he had done little to endear himself to her until now, but he knew he could climb that obstacle given time.  

He closed his eyes and indulged himself in a little fantasy, one where he was holding Hermione close.  She was wearing flowing dress robes of clinging silk, her hair a crown of glorious curls as he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers.  She would taste as sweet as honey and as wild as lightening.  He could tell it every time he looked at her.  

Opening his eyes again, he took a deep breath.  The term had barely gotten underway.  He had all year to win Hermione Granger.


	7. Flying Needles

John Marcus Granger had rescheduled his patients for today and remained at home.  He frowned as he perused the liquor cabinet in the drawing room, wondering what wizards liked to drink when they were socializing.  Then again, could this be considered socializing?  It was more of a quest for information, though he had to take an unusual route to get that information, given that his daughter was being rather reluctant to share it with him.

When his wizard cousin had gone missing it had sent chills up his spine.  He didn't understand everything that happened in Hermione's other world, but he had gleaned enough from snatches of sentences and phrases along with notices sent from her school to know that this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named character was bad news.  Silly thing, though, to be afraid to even speak a name.  The Headmaster had not been afraid to speak it, though.  John, being a Muggle, had no qualms calling the man 'Voldemort'.  And from what little he had managed to figure out, this Voldemort was something akin to being the Hitler of the wizarding world.  Apparently there had been some incident involving his daughter's friend, Harry, which had resulted in the man's disappearance for some time.  Now, somehow, he was back and it had the wizarding world in an uproar.

He also had gleaned enough to know that this Voldemort had something to do with his mother and her time at Hogwarts.  His newly found relatives said that there might be a blood relation between him and this man, but that they could not verify it for certain.  This was rather silly, in his opinion, since you couldn't fool a calendar.  He knew what day Helena Wiggentree had graduated from Hogwarts and he knew what day he had been born.  He had not been premature or sickly, but robust and healthy.  There was no way he could have been born less than seven months after her graduation unless she had been pregnant _before_ she left her school.  He had been firmly rooted within her prior to her disappearance.  Whatever had transpired between this Voldemort and his mother while at school, it hadn't been pretty.

And yet, his daughter would not tell him.  He wrote her letters asking for titles of books he could read dealing with the time of Voldemort, but she always wrote back stating that they were deadly dull or that she didn't want him to become unduly upset.  He asked the Wiggentrees, but they always became nervous and evasive.  A grown man with a sharp mind, it irritated John that everyone seemed to want to shield him from the truth as though he were only a child.  Finally he had hit upon a brilliant idea.  He used the telephone number he and his wife had been given when their daughter had received her letter all those years ago.  It rang a phone that had been set up inside the Ministry of Magic as sort of a help line for Muggle parents of magical children.  The service was there for their convenience and supplied everything from directions on how to get to Diagon Alley for school supplies, checking the test scores after major exams, even to setting up parent/teacher conferences.  He hadn't wished to bother Professor Dumbledore; that man had too much to do as it was.  Professor McGonagall he knew too well from his daughter's long letters, and he suspected that she would back up his daughter's concerns.  There was one teacher, however, that his daughter was not always flattering of, one he suspected would tell him the truth no matter how ugly and bitter it may be.

There was a faint popping noise behind him, and John turned around.  A man in long black robes now stood in the hallway outside his den, looking back at him.  He had pale skin, greasy, shoulder length black hair, a long nose that looked as though it had been broken more than a few times and glittering, malevolent black eyes.  The man bowed slightly in greeting.  "Mr. Granger."

"Professor Snape, I take it?"

"Correct.  I am informed that you wished to speak to me in person.  If you are concerned about your daughter's performance in my class, I assure you that you have little cause to worry.  Though I cannot approve of her taste in friends, she is one of the brightest students I have seen in some time."

"Well, I'd be rather worried if she weren't."  He offered a nervous smile.  "However, that isn't what I wished to speak to you about.  Please, do come in.  Make yourself at home."  He gestured to a comfortable chair and attempted to look the part of the charming host.  His wife was better at this sort of thing, but if the truth was as terrible as he feared, he'd rather spring it on her himself later.

Snape arched a brow, then moved into the den and sat down.  "There is something else on your mind, then?"

"Yes, there is.  Quite frankly I don't know where to begin.  Would you care for a drink?"

"A brandy, if you have it."  The man looked about the den.  This was both John and Hermione's favorite room.  He had had the walls lined with shelves which were now crowded with books on every subject that interested either one of them. A smile tugged at the corner of the professor's mouth at the sight of so many volumes.  "It doesn't surprise me that there would be a room like this in your house.  Your daughter is notorious for her love of books."

John beamed as he handed his guest a cut glass tumbler.  "Well, she comes by it naturally."  He sat down in a chair opposite his guest, not touching his own glass.  The silence that fell between them grew thick.

"I find it is best to always start at the beginning, Mr. Granger.  Since you do not want to discuss your daughter's academic performance, I take it that you are curious about the more recent revelations in your life."

John gave a relieved sigh.  "Yes, I must admit that I am.  My daughter, apparently, has seen fit to reverse the roles of child and parent in this case and my relations are not exactly forthcoming.  I realize that this… this Voldemort character was someone feared and loathed, but no one seems to be willing to tell me why.  I've done the math, and given the information I've been able to pull out of them so far, I've accepted that he is most likely my father.  But I must admit; if my own blood kin are going to look at me with pity in their eyes every time the subject comes up, then I feel I have a right to know why."  His frustration at the entire affair had become evident through all of this.  The professor studied him quietly, and then nodded.

"You're right.  Normally I would say that a non-magical person doesn't need to trouble himself with such matters, but you are closer to the problem than many wizards.  However, I am surprised by your daughter's reluctance to tell you about it.  She should have more faith in you than that.  I suggest, Mr. Granger, that you finish that brandy and pour both of us another.  Believe me when I tell you that you want to be a bit numb when you hear this."

~***~

"Where you going?"  Ron frowned as Hermione bade Harry and himself goodbye just as they were getting close to _The Three Broomsticks_.  

"Oh, my aunt, Lucille, and my mum are meeting me at Gladrags.  I'm to have new dress robes made."

"What's wrong with the ones you already have?"

Hermione sighed and shrugged.  "I don't know.  It has something to do with a party the Wiggentrees are having this Christmas.  Aunt Lucille said I'm to have a 'coming out party'.  I thought my robes would be fine as well, but she's insisting that I need something special."

"Oh!"  Ginny, her fingers wrapped in Harry's, smiled.  "You're getting _whites_."

Ron looked impressed.  "Hadn't thought of that, but they're certainly important enough to have a proper coming out for you."

Hermione looked from Ron to Ginny and back again.  "Considering that I'm not really all that great at the intricacies of social behavior in the wizarding world, could one of you fill me in?"

Ginny grinned.  "Well, a long time ago it would have been for a different purpose, but the really high standing wizarding families still give their daughters a coming out party.  Usually it's when you're sixteen, but they didn't know about you then, did they?  It used to be that they waited until you were eighteen, because the party meant that you were being put out there to find a husband, but that died out with the old 'marriage mart' idea back in the Regency days."

Ron grinned as well.  "You'll _hate_ it, Hermione.  You're going to have to dress up in a gown you could get married in and dance with a bunch of lecherous old men.  All the important families will be there, just so your new kin can show you off properly.  You ought to make sure that we get invitations.  I'd like to see you trying to keep Old Man Diggle's hands to himself."

Hermione made a face.  "Great, just what I need."  She gave a now dubious look towards Gladrags.  "Think I could run for it?"

"Run for it!?"  Harry reached out and gave her hair a firm yank.  "You're a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin.  Now get your adorable derriere in that shop right now, Missy."  His hand pressed against her shoulder and gave her a firm push.  Hermione gave her friends a scowl over her shoulder, and then forced herself into Gladrags.

The little silver bell that hung over the door chimed as she entered.  Lucille and her mother were already there, Lucille in immaculate robes of burgundy and her usual long black gloves, her mother dressed in slimming dress pants and a thick sweater.  They both turned towards her when the bell chimed, gracing her with brilliant smiles.  Her mother held out her arms and wrapped her up in a warm hug while Lucille continued to smile, her affection in her eyes.  

"We were beginning to wonder if you would show up.  I was telling Lucille how you usually try to ditch out of fittings."

"It's not the fittings I'm running from; it's that so-called dressmaker of yours.  I'm positive she time warped from a Nazi Concentration Camp." Her mother's dressmaker was from Berlin.  She was tall and leggy with blond hair that was always in place and a bossy attitude that made Hermione look shy and timid in comparison.  

"She's definitely got her own mind, but she gets the job done."  

"Well, she isn't here today."  Lucille looked towards the back of the shop where a bolt of cloth was now levitating from the storeroom.  "Madam Tolliver will be making your robes.  She was just a girl when I was at Hogwarts, but she quickly mastered how to do touch less stitching."

"I'm not sure I fully understand this concept."  Hermione's mother was watching the bolt of cloth as well.  "It's hard to imagine that everything from the cloth to the final project won't be touched by human hands until the night of the party."

"Well, with the exception of my having to try it on for the fittings.  But I've already explained why it's done this way, Mum, even if it is a bit overkill for me."

"Better not to tempt the fates, Hermione.  More than one Wiggentree has started with a very mild form of the curse, only to find it grow to something far more debilitating.  Even though you only see the Visions in dreams, you should practice as many of the precautions our family follows."  Lucille looked down at Hermione's slender, graceful hands.  "You haven't gotten yourself any gloves, I see."

"Oh, surely I don't need to take things that far just yet.  Not while I'm still taking classes, anyway.  I'd always be replacing them because they were ruined by a potion or some wayward charm."

Lucille sighed and shook her head.  Madam Tolliver called them into a closed off room lined with mirrors and told Hermione to remove her robes.  She stripped down into her underthings and stepped onto a raised platform.

"Now, hold your arms out to your sides, Dear.  It might help you if you close your eyes at first."  

Hermione took her advice.  Lucille had explained this process to her in detail.  Magic had been used from the beginning of this process, first put to use in the harvesting of the cocoons of the silk worms.  They had been handled by levitation charms and other spells, never touched by hand.  The weaving and dyeing was also done by magic, and no delivery man ever had handled this bolt of silk.  It was a creamy, golden white and unblemished by bodily oils or warped weave.  That part didn't bother her.  It was the knowledge that Madam Tolliver was about to use magic to manipulate who knew how many different seamstress tools to make the robe.  She heard the soft rustle of the cloth as it spun off the bolt and began to float around her.  Curiosity made her open her eyes to see a length of softly gleaming silk drift before her… and a silver pair of shears zoom past her ear.  She snapped her eyes shut again.

The sound of scissors filled the little room.  It sounded as though there had to be at least a dozen different pairs, and all the while Madam Tolliver was talking to her mother and Aunt Lucille.  "This shade is perfect for her.  Bright white would wash her out, but this will make her glow."

"I thought it might.  Helena had been breathtaking in softer colors.  Did the decorations come in yet?"

"What did you order?"

"Oh, I think you'll be please, Mrs. Granger.  Ms. Wiggentree has had some of the finest pearls to be found in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds brought in for this."

"Pearls?  Isn't she a bit young for pearls?"

"Isn't that a bit flashy for a set of dress robes that I'm likely to wear only once?"  There was a cool sensation as the silk was brought close enough to lie against her skin.  Apparently the initial cutting was done.

"We can use them again when we make your wedding robes, dear."  Madam Tolliver's voice seemed almost playful.  "My, but you do have a lovely figure.  Lucille, you'd best look into talking the Ministry into loaning you a hit wizard or two when she steps out in this.  There might be a riot."  Hermione felt her skin heat with a blush.

The fitting lasted for hours.  Her mother and aunt chatted to one another through most of it, mostly her mother telling the most embarrassing stories of Hermione's childhood.  When she had tried to protest Madam Tolliver had snapped at her to be still.  Hermione obeyed and sent up a silent prayer that her mother didn't bring any naked baby pictures with her.  Standing still with her eyes shut, however, wasn't very comfortable at the moment.  Madame Tolliver was stitching the robes now, and the fabric tugged in about five places and tiny needles darted through it without the guidance of a human hand.  Her arms had long since begun to ache, but Madam Tolliver's cure for this had been to cast another charm to suspend them outwards.  She dreaded the discomfort she would have in her shoulders come morning.

Finally, the robes were mostly stitched and she no longer had to wear them.  Using yet another levitation charm, Madam Tolliver removed them from her and moved them to a dressmaker's dummy.  "I'll just put in the finishing touches and add the beading.  It should be ready for you to pick up a few weeks before Christmas, Lucille."

"Thank you.  Please send the bill to the estate."  Lucille turned towards Hermione and her mother.  "I must be going.  There are matters to be seen to."  A rush of guilt washed over Hermione.  She had completely forgotten what else was happening.

"Has… has there been any word about Thomas?"

Lucille sighed and shook her head.  "Nothing.  I've never seen Alexander like this.  His mother has been gone for so long and he and Thomas…"  She faltered, and then put on a brave face.  "Well, we Wiggentrees are not entirely without our resources, are we?  Those of us who aren't mediwizards will most likely be aurors.  If anyone can find him, we can."

Hermione looked at her mother and saw that she was frowning.  "Should we postpone this coming out, then?  What if it has something to do with Hermione?"

"Then postponing it will look like an act of fear.  We will not be cowed into hiding.  Let those who would do us ill come."  There was a fierce light that sprang to life out of nothingness within Lucille's eyes.  "They cannot touch us.  We will have this gathering, and the Wizarding world will know that Hermione is a true Wiggentree."  She touched Hermione's cheek with a gloved hand, her body heat filtering through the soft kidskin, then apparated away.

"Well," her mother said, hands on her hips, "that would certainly cut my morning drive to the clinic down.  Do you think you could figure out a way I could travel like that?"

"I could… but you wouldn't like it."  Hermione threaded her arm through her mother's and pulled.  "Come on.  I want to show you Hogsmede."'

~***~

Severus returned to the school late and inebriated.  John and his missus certainly had excellent taste when it came to brandies and cognacs.  Too bad that John was unlikely to have a potion to rid him of the hangover they both were going to have the following morning.  

The first few drinks had made it easier to start talking.  Once he had started, Snape had found it difficult to finish.  In truth, he was irritated at Hermione for not answering her father's questions herself.  If any man deserved to know the ugly truth, he did.  He should know what sort of creature had sired him so that he could prepare himself in the event that he ever had the unfortunate experience of meeting him.  It wasn't the daughter's place to protect the parent, even if she were a witch and the parent a Muggle.  

In turn, John had told him some things.  After he had heard all about Voldemort's evil ways, about the bloodshed and the violence, he had fallen silent for a long moment.  When Snape had thought he'd been given enough time to stew, he inquired on his thoughts.  The man had looked up from his glass, eyes filled with anxiety and shock as he answered, 'I guess that explains it.'

_We had trouble, Emma and I, when we were trying to conceive.  There were several miscarriages, and none of them with any sound medical reasoning behind them.  We tried everything from changing our diet to ignoring our conservative upbringings to give the 'new age' tricks a try.  When we found we were pregnant again we were to the point that we didn't dare hope it would carry out until the end.  We were so careful, following every order given to us by the doctor, and eventually Hermione was born.  We were thrilled, and I'll admit that we've spoiled her shamelessly because of it.  _

_We almost lost her, though.  Mother… she came to see us after Hermione was born.  She had been ill for over a year, fighting breast cancer and too weak to travel most times.  We were sitting downstairs when we heard the baby crying and Mother said she would see to her. Neither of us thought anything about it, and I remember that Emma had her hands busy at the time.  She finished quickly enough and hurried upstairs.  She was breastfeeding Hermione, see, and she thought that she might be hungry.  Next thing I knew Emma was screeching like a banshee and there were noises coming from upstairs.  I ran up and found my wife fighting with her.  Mother was holding a little pillow that was usually in the rocking chair in her hand and Emma was yelling for me to get the baby.  Hermione… she wasn't breathing.  I tried to remember everything I had learned about CPR on children and managed to resuscitate her.  Emma fought Mother to the ground and said that when she had come up, Mother hand been holding the pillow over Hermione's face, trying to suffocate her._

_The doctors thought that the illness had been too stressful on her.  We admitted Mother into a hospital where they could treat her.  Eventually, they told us she was stable.  We didn't trust her with Hermione for a long time, but she did seem better.  After a few years we relaxed a bit.  Mother came to live with us here.  She was all alone and needed someone to look after her, or so we thought.  She took to baking sweet biscuits for Hermione, in spite of our disapproval.  Then, Hermione started to get sick.  She became weak and started throwing up often.  Her hair became brittle and she started losing too much weight.  She was six at the time.  The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, but Emma started to wonder.  She took one of the biscuits to the doctor to have it tested and found that the sugar frosting was laced with arsenic.  Emma and I don't eat sweets, so we had not been poisoned.  Mother was trying to kill or daughter again._

_Emma and I discussed it.  Emma took Hermione away to a private hospital in another city.  They stayed there until she regained her strength.  I stayed behind and had Mother committed.  All the while we told Hermione I had stayed because the cancer was back, that Mother was dying.  I paid to have a headstone placed in a cemetery near by so that when Hermione came home, she wouldn't know the difference.  As far as she is concerned, her grandmother died that year._

Snape knew what doubts were now plaguing the man.  He was thinking of all those miscarriages, all those failed attempts at fatherhood.  Now that he knew more of the beast who had started Helena's downward spiral into madness, he had to wonder if there wasn't something more sinister behind his wife's difficulties.  Severus believed that there was.  Only a man as vile as Voldemort could snap a woman's mind so badly that she would resort to murdering her own grandchildren before they were even born.  It appeared that Helena Wiggentree had become obsessed with denying the Dark Lord his desired heir, no matter the cost.  

Snape drained a vial of hangover cure before climbing into bed.  It had been a draining day for him.  Talking about Voldemort brought back memories of his own crimes and of the blood on his own hands.  It was something he was still paying for and he doubted that he would ever find absolution.  Perhaps he could go a long way towards it by putting all his cunning towards protecting the girl now.  After that article in the paper there was very little time before Voldemort began to consider the chances of a blood relation between himself and the Head Girl.  Severus had not been joking when he had told her that the wizard would have use for a healthy girl of breeding age.  It was too late to corrupt Hermione Wiggentree-Granger, but a babe would be an easy game.  

The cynical part of him pointed out that it might be a great deal easier if they could just find a way to kill the bastard and be rid of him for good.


	8. Miss Hermione WiggentreeGranger

The start of the Christmas Holidays began one week before Christmas.  The Yule ball was to take place Christmas Eve.  The Yule Celebration at the main Wiggentree estate was to take place on December 22nd, giving Hermione enough time to attend the first party, rest up a day, and then get back to Hogwarts for the Yule Ball to serve as Head Girl.

Weren't the holidays meant for resting?

Finding time during the brief trips to Hogsmede to purchase Christmas gifts for everyone on her list had been tricky.  Her new family members did not exchange gifts, not wishing to risk a well intentioned bauble locking someone into a trance.  Instead, they celebrated the season by simply being with one another, enjoying each others company.  With the Grangers agreeing to attend this year, the entire family was buzzing with excitement.  Of course, she still had to find something for her parents, Harry and Ron, small things for the rest of the Gryffindors in her year, gifts for the Weasleys and something for each of her teachers.  Most of them were relatively easy to shop for, which left her plenty of time to think about what to get Professor Snape.  

Her relationship with the Potions Master had become a strange one.  In class he had become cool towards her, all but ignoring her and no longer belittling her.  Outside of class, however, he had become mentor, task master and psychiatrist all in one.  She was to write down all of her dreams, both those that were clearly visions and those that were not, in a journal.  On Friday nights she made her way to the dungeons where he went over the journal entries with her, talking her through them as they picked them apart.  Each word, each object was examined and re-examined.  He had directed her towards several texts on dream interpretation so that she could better seek the signs that had gone unnoticed before.  What she had learned was that many of her 'dreams' were actually visions twisted into a more surreal manner.  All her life she had been getting glimpses of the past, usually that of her parents', and she had never known it.  

The clear visions, however, were starting to calm down somewhat.  She was getting fewer and fewer rape scenes playing in her mind.  More often, however, she was getting visions of Helena on her own, quiet and nervous, as if plotting something.  She had snuck into the library on numerous occasions, snuck off of the school grounds from time to time in search of items.  There had been scenes of her in some dark room over an ancient cauldron Hermione had watched her pulling out of a forgotten storeroom.  Somewhere within the school Helena Wiggentree had brewed a secret potion, but something told Hermione it had been a good deal more serious that the Polyjuice Potion she herself had made in her second year.  She had been writing down the ingredients as she recognized them upon waking.  The list was becoming quite long, and Snape had identified it sometime ago.

"I've been going over her academic record, and she was more than capable of brewing it, but she had to have been clever beyond anyone's reckoning to have done it within Hogwarts without being caught."

It was Katherine's Potion, named after the witch who had created it centuries ago.  She had been a sorceress of great skill who had fallen in love with a Muggle nobleman during the times when witches were burned or hanged for their craft.  When she had tearfully admitted to her husband what she was, he surprised her by saying that it didn't matter to him.  Then he had told her that he would hide her from the Church, on the grounds that she provided him with a non-magical heir.  All her other children could be witches and wizards, but she had to give him one non-magical child to take his place after his death.  She had worked for years to perfect her brew, inadvertently poisoning more than one unborn babe in the process, until she had succeeded.  

So that was how Helena had done it.  

The potion, when taken daily for three solid weeks during the first trimester of pregnancy, bound the magical powers of the unborn child so tightly that no known magic could reverse it.  However, it only worked on the child that was developing within the mother's womb at the time.  Katherine's husband had been dead and buried for some time before he had become a grandfather, and was therefore spared the knowledge that all five children born to his heir were magical.   Luckily, the son hadn't been nearly as unforgiving of this as the father had been.  

Still, it had been risky.  Many of the ingredients were toxic in the wrong amounts, and a few of them, such as the pennyroyal mint, could bring about miscarriage.  Helena had been taking a great chance that she could even pull it off.  A shiver ran down Hermione's spine whenever she thought of how easily it could have gone wrong and she would never have been born.

Cold winter sunlight glinting off of something in a shop window distracted her from her thoughts.  She turned her head and found herself gazing at a gleaming set of scales in the apothecary window.  A frown creased her forehead as she reminded herself that the professor had a set of scales that he adored, polishing them so that they gleamed, until something else caught her eye.  There, behind the scales but still in the front window display, was a book.  The surprising thing about this book was the name of it: Practical Uses of Chemistry.  It was a _Muggle_ book, in Hogsmede.  It only took her a second to decide before she entered the shop and purchased one of the leather bound books.  Something in her told her that her Potions Master would find it quite fascinating.

~***~

The main Wiggentree Estate was massive.  As they drove up the long, winding drive, Hermione couldn't help but stare out the windows of her father's car at the great expanses of lawn blanketed in crisp, white snow.  For a brief second she caught a flash of what they must look like during the summer, all green and perfectly manicured.  It took her a moment to realize that she was experiencing a flash of memory.  She smiled inwardly to herself, eager to make her own memories of this place and to no longer have to settle for her grandmother's.

Her father pulled the car up to the front of the great house, letting out a low, long whistle at the sight of it.  "I don't even want to imagine what it must cost to keep the cleaning staff for this monster."  He turned off the engine before looking to his wife, now busily rummaging through her purse. She pulled out two pairs of leather gloves, sealed in plastic.  

"Perhaps it's best you didn't grow up here, Dear.  You'd likely have become lost."  She handed him one of the sealed pairs of gloves, which he promptly opened and began to pull onto his arms.  "Did you remember your gloves, Mia?"

"Oh, right."  Pulling herself from her awestruck daze, Hermione fished around in her bag and found her own gloves.  She pulled them on deftly before practically leaping from the car.  Already a pair of house elves was hurrying down the steps of the front entrance to stand before the Grangers.  They bowed low, welcoming them to the manor before offering to take up the luggage.  Hermione had told her parents all about house elves, and like her they had some difficulty accepting the fact that the race was enslaved, but she had become accustomed to the fact that until there were more elves who thought like Dobby she was unlikely to be able to do anything about it.  She left her parents by the car, her mother staring bemusedly at the tiny creatures and her father busy plying them with questions.  The large double doors at the top of the stairs opened as she reached them, letting her great-aunt and uncle exit the house.  Albert and Lucille smiled down at her from two steps up.

"Hermione, welcome to our family home."  Lucille reached out and smoothed her curls with a gloved hand.  "It's so good to have you here."

Albert was a bit more jovial.  Not as hindered as his sister, he pulled Hermione into a firm hug, though his touch was still separated by cloth and leather.  The spicy scent of his cologne tickled her nose, mixed with the faint smell of pipe tobacco and peppermints.  He let her go after a minute and ruffled her hair as though she were only seven.  "Welcome home, Hermione.  Now, don't let us stand in your way.  The whole of the manor is open to you.  Go and have a look around."  He stepped aside and urged her in.  She wasn't thick.  She knew the real reason Uncle Albert was hurrying her off.  Though they had seen her parents more often than they had seen her, there was still much catching up to do.  Hermione didn't remember much about her grandmother.  Most of her memories involving Helena were of the scents of vanilla and cinnamon from the sweet biscuits her grandmother would always bake for her and the lovely afternoon teas they had shared.  She had been at a private hospital with some childhood illness when her grandmother had passed away.  She hadn't even been well enough to attend the funeral.  Part of her had always regretted not being there.

She left Albert and Lucille to visit with her parents, content to let the adults discuss matters amongst themselves.  Her mother, she knew, was fretful that her evening gown would not be grand enough for the coming gathering, although Hermione thought the designer sheath of sparkling blue framed her mother's delicate beauty quite well.  She would outshine every witch there, even herself in her formal whites.  Emma had even consented to wearing Helena's gorgeous sapphire and diamond choker for the occasion, at her husband's urging.  John Granger had no such fears.  Men had it easy, in Hermione's opinion.  His new tuxedo with its black satin trim was the sort of thing that would be in style for decades to come, unlike clothing for women which seemed to go in and out of style on a daily basis.  Uncle Albert had sent him a pair of antique cuff links which had belonged to his own father.  That was a Wiggentree trait, to keep to that which was either pristine and new or to keep to that which was old and familiar to the family itself.  Far less danger that way.

She was content to explore the house.  The fact that this was the home of one family seemed staggering to her.  Oh, she knew that people of noble and royal birth had lived in palaces and massive structures throughout recorded time, but to equate it with her own flesh and blood seemed ridiculous.  There were paintings, both moving and stationary, depicting numerous faces of hundreds of family members.  There were antique furnishing and artworks, all of them museum quality and lovingly preserved.  The woodwork seemed to glow from recent polishing, giving it a feeling of warmth and tranquility.  Light poured through massive windows, many of them stained glass so that the light was split into a rainbow of color, drenching everything in a type of magic all its own.  She thought that she could almost hear the laughter and whispers of dozens of generations of Wiggentrees spanning through the ages.  As she explored the hallways, looking at the various portraits and peeking into the many rooms, she felt a pang of sadness that Helena had felt forced to give this all up and a stab of anger at the monster who had put her in such a position.

"Hello."

The voice was breathy, and somewhat nervous in its intonation.  Hermione jumped, startled by it, and turned around.  She had been exploring a room filled with maps and star charts, apparently one of her ancestors had been an avid seaman, and had left the door standing open.  Now there was a young man standing there, looking at her with the lamplight illuminating him from the hall.  Her own breath caught in her throat.

She had known that Alexander existed, of course, had sent him a parcel with some of her old school things.  But she hadn't thought that she would have the chance to meet him.  Given that his 'gift' had been stuck in a sort of overdrive, she had expected that he would be isolated from strangers, even from her.  Even though, she had never imagined him to be the young man standing in the doorway, but she couldn't think of who else would be in this house wearing long leather gloves that disappeared into his sleeves and about her age.  Still, she had thought he would look more like her, with bushy brown hair and too-large teeth.  She hadn't expected him to be tall and slender with a sort of golden honey complexion.  She hadn't thought that his hair would be a golden blond and fall in artless curls that gave him a 'just woke up' look many young men tried in vain to capture, and was it legal for a blond to have such deep, velvety brown eyes?  He was, she thought, one of the most beautiful boys she had ever seen; far more so than Draco Malfoy's icy looks or even Gilderoy Lockhart back when she had still thought him genuine.  

Her extended silence seemed to make him nervous.  "I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to bother you.  I'll be going."  He looked stricken and started to back out of the room.

"No!"  She took a step forward, not wanting him to go.  "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude.  I… you're just not what I was expecting you to be like."  She blushed, realizing how lame that had sounded.  Why was she so nervous?  This was a cousin of hers, and a rather closely related one at that.  She should be able to respond to him much as Ginny did towards her brothers, not turn into a stammering first year.  "I'm Hermione."  She extended one of her gloved hands.

He looked at the hand, something like regret in his eyes, then smiled and walked further into the room to take it into his own glove.  "Alex Wiggentree.  I've been wondering when you'd finally get here.  I think I've driving my tutor quite mad with asking."  He shook her hand and she found herself acutely aware of how warm his skin was through the glove before they parted.  

"I thought the drive would never end.  I've been looking forward to this ever since I found out we were coming.  Well, maybe not looking forward to the party tonight, but definitely looking forward to being here."

He grinned, and she was suddenly struck by the thought that like looked like a dangerous mix between an arch angel and a mischievous pixie.  "I like the party.  I actually get to meet people I'm not related to."  He blushed and looked down at the floor.  "Although I will admit that I was more looking forward to meeting you.  And your parents, of course."  This last part sounded like an afterthought.  "So… enjoying your explorations?"

"Very much so.  This house is enormous.  I'm almost afraid I'll get lost."

"That's why I'm here."  He graced her with a smile that made her feel oddly weak in the knees.  "I thought I could show you around."

"I'd like that."  He held out a hand to her, and she let her gloved fingers be wrapped up in his own before he drew her from the room.  

"Someplace more interesting than old great-great-great-uncle Mathew's map room, I think.  He was a rather boring sort.  Always planning his next excursion, mostly trying to track down rogue dark wizards.  He finally snuffed it somewhere in Romania, trying to track down a warlock who had been attempting to strike a deal with a vampire."

"Killed by the vampire?"

"Nah, ate a bad bit of beef and didn't have any curative potions on him."  He gave her another impish smile as he pulled her along behind him.

He took her everywhere, from the kitchens where they nicked a preview of the refreshments planned for that evening to the highest towers of the manor.  She went into raptures at the sight of the library that had eventually grown so large it had been expanded upwards to four floors with ladders that rolled along well oiled tracks and was flattered that he even showed her his secret places where he hid from his tutor and relatives when he wanted privacy.

"Many things in the house have been constructed so that the Muggles in the family will be comfortable as well.  Many of the Wiggentrees have married Muggles.  My own step-mother is one, although I don't think you'll meet her while you're here.  She hasn't come out of her room since Dad went missing.  She really loves him."  He looked away from her, looking out over the top of the chandelier in the ballroom.  They where currently in one of his hiding places, a niche covered by a wooden screen that allowed fresh air to flow through the top of the ballroom and pull overheat air out.  Hermione reached over and wrapped her gloved hand over his silk covered arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sure he'll be found, Alex.  I've read all about our family.  The Wiggentrees have produced some of the best Aurors in history."

He forced a brave smile and turned to look down at where her hand held his arm.  The silence stretched between them for a long moment before he spoke again.  "Hermione, I know that our family doesn't give present to one another at Christmas, but I was wondering… could I ask you for something?"

"Of course."  She answered without hesitation, thinking that he would want another item from school or maybe something from her childhood.  She'd even be willing to pinch something of her parents' if it would get her another one of those smiles of his.

"Could I… I'd like to touch you… without the gloves."

"What?"  She blinked, not sure how exactly he meant that.

"I'd like to touch you.  Your hand or your face or… or anything.  Even your hair."

"Alex, I don't think you're allowed.  Uncle Albert said…"

"I know what Grandfather says, and I know that I'm not allowed.  I haven't been allowed for ages.  I… Hermione, I was only six when I got my first vision.  Within a year, everything and anything was likely to set it off.  The smallest thing could lock me into a vision, and to protect me the family covered me up."  He scowled down at his own gloves.  "Everyone wore gloves when they were near me, even the house elves.  I was kept covered from chin to toes, always."

"It was for your own safety, Alex."

"But that doesn't make it any better."  He looked up again, his dark brown eyes shining with frustration.  "I know I'm fighting a losing battle.  Do you know that there're four private rooms at St. Mungos set aside for our family alone?  For those of us who are eventually driven mad by the 'gift', those like me who start fighting it early on and whom it eventually consumes."  He laced his fingers through her own.  "I know I'll end up in one of those rooms one day, Hermione, and I'm afraid that I'll be sent there having never been touched again.  I hate it that I'm facing that sort of future, all because I can't escape the past, and I don't want my last normal memory to be that of my mother spanking me because I broke a platter while trying to nick a biscuit from the kitchens."

Hermione felt torn.  She could understand why he wanted this, why he was desperate to have it.  The logical part of her kept pointing out that all the precautions that were taken were for his own good.  "What if something goes wrong?"

"I trust you, Hermione.  I know you'll break the contact and get help if it's needed, and I'll make sure they understand it was my idea."  And then he gave her another one of those smiles, and she again felt weak and trembling all over.  "You don't have to decide right now.  Think it over, and I'll talk to you after the party.  Someone always spikes the eggnog, usually Grandfather, and you and I are likely to be the only truly sober ones left in the house.  Other than the elves, of course."

She found herself returning the smile.  "All right, I'll think about it."  He rewarded her with an even bigger smile and a squeeze of the hand.  

~***~

Everyone who was anyone turned out for the Christmas Party and the presentation of Hermione Wiggentree-Granger.  It had been decided that, since he had always used the name of Granger, it would be silly for her father to change now.  It would also save him the trouble having to explain again and again why his name changed if he simply kept it as it was.  John and Emma stood by Albert and Lucille as they welcomed their guests.  As each party arrived, Albert explained who they were and what importance they held in the Wizarding community.  John felt much like a crown prince having details fed to him by a trusted advisor.  

"The Diddles, and old family, but rather foolish.  The men tend to act first and think later.  The do, however have good taste in women and tend to marry girls far more intelligent than themselves.  Watch out for Daedal us, however.  The man's a known lecher.  He'll likely try to get a good feel of Hermione if he dances with her and he _will_ make a pass at your wife."

"Sounds like a charming fellow.  Would it be in bad form for me to knock his teeth down his throat for it?  As a dentist, I _can_ repair the damage."

"Very bad form.  This is a civilized gathering, for the most part.  The next pair is Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell.  Mr. O'Connell is a researcher with St. Mungo's, and we fund a good deal of his work.  Mrs. O'Connell is a Muggle, which is why most pureblood families refuse to fund her husband's work.  Since, as a family, we strongly support medical advances as well as have a good number of marriages to Muggles ourselves, we steadfastly support them as a couple."

John smiled warmly at the O'Connells and welcomed them to the gathering.  After his encounter with Wizard prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns so long ago, he found his relatives' approach to Wizard-Muggle relations comforting.  As he was recalling his run in with a certain tall, pale wizard, he felt his wife tense up at his side.

"What is _he_ doing here?"

John looked up to see the source of her ire.  The very same wizard who had so blatantly sneered at their very existence and alluded that their daughter was less than worthy because of her parentage was approaching them.  

"I see you're acquainted with the Malfoys.  Unavoidable, I'm afraid.  They're simply too well rooted in Society to be snubbed."  Albert's voice was disapproving, and he clearly didn't like the Malfoy's any more than John or Emma did.  "Damn, they brought their son."

"Something wrong with the son?"

"Every well born family hoping to make a connection with our family will have already worked out just how promising a witch Hermione is.  They will have brought their unmarried sons in hopes that Hermione's head will be turned by them.  If Lucius Malfoy has brought that brat of his, it means he hopes to see a romantic connection between the two of them."

"Not bloody likely."  John forced a polite smile and silently coached himself to be the gracious host.  

"Albert, so good to see you.  I'm honored that you remembered my family in your gathering."  Lucius Malfoy gave a thin smile and extended a hand clad in a supple, black leather glove.  Albert shook it, but kept it no longer than he had to without appearing rude.  

"So glad you could come, Mr. Malfoy.  I trust all it well at Malfoy Manor."

"Quite well."  He seemed to ignore the 'Mr. Malfoy' completely.  "Allow me to introduce my wife, Narcissa, and my son, Draco."  

John kept his polite smile in place as he examined the would-be suitor.  Draco was a handsome boy, if a bit anemic in appearance.  Still, there was something unwholesome about him, something unclean.  The whole family had that 'wrongness' about them that made your skin crawl when you go too near.  

"Charmed, Mrs. Malfoy.  Allow me to introduce my nephew, Dr. John Marcus Granger, and his wife, Dr. Emma Granger."  

Lucius gave a wider smile, which did appear genuine as far as 'kiss up' smiles went.  "A pleasure.  There was been a great deal written up about the both of you in the Daily Prophet of late.  What exactly is a dentist?"

"Think of it as a mediwizard, but one who only deals with teeth and diseases of the mouth."

Malfoy blinked, apparently surprised.  "Really?  Do most Muggles in the medical profession deal with only a specific part of the body?"

"The specialists do."

"Fascinating."  The concept appeared to be a foreign one to Lucius Malfoy, but he and his family had to move on so that the other guests could be greeted.  The line seemed to go on forever, and John was glad to see that some of Hermione's school friends were able to make it, including the boys she spoke about so often, Harry and Ron.  There were also some students from her school house as well as some from other houses she had befriended.  He noted that the students from the Ravenclaw house, such as young Terry Boot, seemed far more compatible with his brilliant child than those of her own house, but who was he to question the decisions of an ancient hat?  

When the last of the guests was greeted, he noticed that Lucille summoned one of the house elves and sent her upstairs.  After a few moments had passed, the lamplights dimmed to signal that it was time for Hermione to make her appearance.  His young cousin, Alexander, broke free from his tutor's watchful eye and went to stand at the foot of the stairs, resplendent in his immaculate dress robes of deepest indigo.  A circle of light appeared at the top of the stairs and a shadow moved towards it.  As his daughter moved into the light, he heard the gathered throng gasp.

What had they done with his little girl?  The woman standing at the top of the stairs couldn't possibly be his daughter.  Her hair was tamed into countless ringlets and caught up at the nape so that they all cascaded down the back of her head and over her back, a few arranged so that they fell over her shoulders.  A tiara of diamonds and pearls gave her a regal appearance.  The robes she wore were of a gleaming, golden-white material and were decorated with pearls and crystals, which glistened in the dimmed lighting.  Every step she took caused an effect like a thousand twinkling lights on fresh snowfall at dawn.  The confident, exquisite creature who was gliding down the staircase towards her cousin waiting at the bottom to escort her was the embodiment of everything that a young woman should be; beautiful, poised and brilliant.  Sadness stabbed through John's heart as he realized that soon he would have to let her go, that soon she would no longer need her father and would forge her own way through the world as an independent woman.

Hermione smiled to Alexander as he took her white gloved hand into his own black one and began walking over with her towards her parents.  John heard Emma's breath catch in her throat and didn't dare look at his wife, knowing that if he saw the tears doubtlessly glistening in her eyes, he would be hard pressed not to cry as well.  Instead he let all of his pride and love for his daughter filter into his smile as she stopped before him and gave a deep, graceful curtsey.  When she came back up, Alex offered her hand to John, and he took it gladly before leading his little girl out to the dance floor for the opening waltz.

"You look perfect, Mia."

"I'm glad, because I feel like I'm going to be sick.  My stomach is full of butterflies."  Her smile was brittle and he could see a nervous panic in her eyes.  The sadness inside him relaxed, comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't ready to fly the coop just yet.  "I was certain I would trip on the hem of my robes halfway down the stairs."

"But you didn't.  I would have thought you had long since forgotten all those balance techniques you learned in ballet. You only kept with it for a year."

"I only took it because mother asked me to.  You know I hated ballet."  The waltz, however, she must have been practicing ever since she learned she would have to dance tonight.  Her steps were perfect and measured, and she gave up control completely to her father.  

"Yes, but you withstood it bravely like a good and loving daughter while I convinced your mother she would be better served by purchasing a chemistry set for you."  He grinned.  "You did very well with that.  If I remember correctly it was an entire month before you actually set fire to anything."

"Another crack like that and I'll trod on your toes, father or not."  She gave him her best, mutinous expression, something she often did when she was pretending to be angry with him, and was rewarded with one of his warm chuckles.

"All right, truce."  He could tell the dance was about to end and that he would have to hand his child over to someone else.  "Be careful tonight, Beetle Bug.  I don't fully trust some of our guests."

Hermione's eyes brushed over the crowd and he watched her square her shoulders.  "Don't worry, Dad.  I'll be careful."

~***~

She had danced with Mr. Weasley before dancing with Bill, Fred and Ron, in that order.  Apparently you danced with the father, and then with any unmarried sons in the order of their birth, although in the case of the Weasley family neither they nor Hermione actually believed a match would ever come from any of it.  Professor Dumbledore stood in proxy for Harry's late father, another one that was more of an excuse to dance with an old friend rather than an actual would-be suitor, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the Headmaster was a superb dancer himself.  Mr. Zabini was a pleasant surprise as well, with exquisite manners and a likeable air about him.  Although, as their dance was finished and he was walking her over to hand her off to his son, he quietly warned her that Blaise was a wastrel and by no means good enough for her, and told his son to keep his hands in their proper places.  

Although the ballroom was cooled with magic and she did occasionally get to take a break and sit down, she starting to feel warm and her feet were beginning to ache from all the dancing.  She was taking one of her breaks when the Headmaster came over with Professor Snape in tow an 'introduced' them properly.  She surrendered her half-drunk glass of punch and rose to accept her teacher's hand as he led her out onto the floor yet again.

"How are you holding up?" he asked of her as he placed one long fingered hand at her waist, the other grasping the fingers of her other hand gently.  

"It's exhausting, but as I don't know when I'll have a night like this again I'm trying to make the most of it."  She gave him a tired smile, but she did feel content.  "I can't decide if I'm supposed to feel like a fairy princess or a brood mare put up for auction."

"Well, although the brood mare is the more accurate reference, I would recommend that you stick with the fairy princess idea.  It will make the night more bearable."

"Did you just make a joke?" 

"Contrary to popular belief, Miss Granger, I _do have a sense of humor.  I just choose not to waste it on students."_

"I'm a student."

"You're a special case."  He gave her one of those one-sided smirks of his as he twirled her along the edge of the dance floor.  "What do you think of your selection of potential in-laws so far?"  

"I hadn't realized there were so many, and such a span of ages.  The Diggles don't have any sons under the age of thirty, although they were gentlemen.  That father of theirs was all over the place."  She still felt a little scandalized about being goosed by a man old enough to be her grandfather.

"Daedelus Diggle is infamous for being a lecher.  My sister classified him as an 'International Male'."

"How so?"

"She always said he had Roman hands and Russian fingers."  It took a second for her to get the pun, but once she did she couldn't hold back the peal of laughter that escaped her.  "Of course, I must point out that you're only half way through the evening.  I have noticed that the Wiggentrees have been quite adept at keeping certain elements away from you, but you will eventually have to dance with the Malfoys."

That stopped her good mood in a heart beat.  "Did you have to bring _them up?"_

"Ignoring them will not make them go away.  Believe me, I've tried."

"Can't I just beg out early, say my feet are sore?"

"Unfortunately, no.  That would be considered the height of ill mannered behavior and cause your family a great embarrassment."

"But my feet really do hurt."

"You can always allow Young Malfoy to escort you out to the gardens to sit down for a rest.  I'm certain he'd only try to steal one or two kisses."

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.  "Ugh.  No thanks."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched upwards.  "That's my girl.  Just remember, they can't force you to do anything against your will while you're here within the bosom of your family.  The smart thing to do is stay with the party, where manners will dictate that they behave themselves.  As long as you stay with the party there are hundreds of fully trained witches and wizards to contend with if they try anything."  His eyes drifted over the top of her head towards something behind her.  "Now, Lucius is making his way over, no doubt in order to get me to give you the proper introductions.  Be graceful and gracious, and remember what the last Slytherin who took an interest in a Wiggentree did to her.  Never forget that you are worth one hundred Draco Malfoys.  He is beneath you."

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard as the music came to an end.  As though playing a part in a script, she turned away from Snape so that she was walking forward as he led her from the floor, his hand still holding her own.  As promised, Lucius Malfoy was waiting for them, a dashing figure in inky black.  A memory of something her mother's sister had once told her whispered in the back of her mind.  _A woman should never trust a man who is better looking than she is, Mia Dear.  At worst, fidelity will be an impossibility for him.  At best, he'll be forever stealing your makeup for himself._

"Severus, old friend, how delightful to see you again."

Snape inclined his head slightly.  "Lucius."  He turned his attention to Hermione, giving her fingers a slight, barely perceptible squeeze.  "Allow me to introduce Miss Hermione Wiggentree-Granger."  He surrendered the hand he was holding to Mr. Malfoy, who bent low over it, brushing his lips lightly over the soft, white leather of her glove.  

"An honor, Miss Wiggentree.  My thanks to you and your family for the invitation to your home."

Hermione knew that her smile did not reach her eyes.  She wasn't _that good of an actress.  "The holidays are meant to be shared by all, Mr. Malfoy.  This is a celebration."_

Lucius straightened up, his smile cold.  He was a handsome man, but Hermione couldn't help but compare his cold looks to Alexander's warm honeyed traits.  When the comparison was made, the Malfoys simply didn't measure up.  "Might I have this dance?"

Oh how she wanted to tell him to sod off and move on to the next family.  She must have hesitated a second too long, because Snape cleared his throat next to her, jogging her back to the present.  "Of course, Mr. Malfoy.  I would be honored."  The lie twisted her stomach, but she kept her false smile firmly in place as he led her onto the floor.

It was a private triumph for Hermione when she realized that, when it came to dancing, both Albus Dumbledore and Professor Snape were better than Lucius Malfoy.  Malfoy, although his technique was near to flawless, was cold and controlling.  Unless a woman enjoyed being intimidated by her partner, you couldn't enjoy dancing with him.  Albus Dumbledore danced for the love of dancing and the conversation that came with it.  She had truly enjoyed her time on the floor with him because it had been fun.  Professor Snape, well, she wasn't sure how to describe his dancing.  It was smooth and more like a sort of partnership, and it had given her a curious, tingling feeling deep in her insides.  Even the bent of their conversation hadn't been able to dampen her enjoyment of it.  When compared to Snape, Malfoy left her with an icy feeling deep inside.

"How are you adapting to your new status in life, Miss Wiggentree?" 

"Please, it's Granger, and I feel that I am adapting quite well.  The Wiggentrees have made ever effort to make my parents and I feel welcomed." 

"Helena's disappearance was a shock to the entire wizarding world.  The discovery of a nephew and great-niece would be no small amount of comfort to them.  Finding you will finally give them a sense of closure regarding the whole affair."  They turned at the corner of the floor, and Hermione caught sight of Draco as he watched them closely, waiting for his turn.  "I can't understand how I missed it before."

"Miss what, Mr. Malfoy?"

"That you were of wizarding blood, Miss Wig… Miss Granger.  My son had told me that you were a Muggleborn, but I've always had trouble reconciling your ease when it came to mastering magic.  Since you obviously knew both of your parents and claimed no link to any wizarding relations, it never occurred to me that there may have been an event that cut you off from a different heritage.  Now that all has been made clear, it is obvious that you come from one of the most noble of bloodlines.  In truth, given the physical similarities between you and the rest of your clan, I can't believe I never saw it before."

"As I seem to recall, Mr. Malfoy, you were too busy looking down your nose at me because of my apparent lack of wizarding bloodlines to consider the possibility that there may have been another reason."  His fingers tightened sharply around her own and she felt the hand at her waist convulse.  The smile on his face faltered a bit, but he quickly resumed his gentle expression.

"A gross bit of misconduct on my part.  Please try and understand that I am quite protective of my son, and quite proud of him.  When you were able to so thoroughly trounce him in every exam again and again, it sparked a protective streak in me."  He gave a short laugh.  "Of course, Draco is quite capable of fighting his own battles, as he has proven by becoming Head Boy.  He was quite excited by the prospect of working so closely with you once he learned you would be serving as Head Girl.  I believe that he may have always had a warm place in his heart for you."

A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of Draco carrying a torch for her, but she managed to mask it.  "As I recall, he found his joy in tormenting me over the past six years."

"As to that, I fear I am to blame for his actions.  I will admit that I am known to be a bit, shall we say 'narrow minded', when it comes to Muggleborns.  My family has been of only pure wizard blood for more generations than we can count, and I have always made my preferences known to my son.  He was cruel to you in an effort to please me.  In that, I was wrong.  A witch as talented as you, as powerful as you have proven yourself to be, transcends such petty concerns as blood lines."

"How very adult of you.  I count myself fortunate, however, that the Wiggentrees have always cared little for pureblood.  My own mother is a Muggle, through and through, and yet they embrace her as much as they do my father and I.  It's somewhat of a family tradition."

"And what of the rest of your family, Miss Granger?"  The icy feeling along her spine grew even colder.  The flash in Lucius' pale eyes made her certain that he had been longing to bring the topic around.  "After all, your father didn't spring from your grandmother's forehead, fully grown.  It takes two to make a child."

"This is not Greek Mythology, Mr. Malfoy.  As for my unknown grandfather, I confess that I have thought little about him.  It's obvious to me that, whoever he was, he forced a young woman to make her own way in the world during a time when the stigma of being a single mother could have destroyed her life.  He was obviously too much of a coward to face up to his responsibilities."

The grip on her hand tightened again, this time to the point where it was close to hurting.  "Or perhaps, Miss Granger, Helena played her lover false, and abandoned him, leaving him with no way to find her and no way to claim his son.  Just because your grandmother was a Wiggentree does not mean that she was all that was noble and pure.  If her intentions were so grand, why did she not seek the protection of her family rather than run from them?  The great and mighty Wiggentree clan would not have thrown out their cherished daughter all for the lack of a husband."

"Or perhaps, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione countered, her teeth gritted against the discomfort of the bones grinding together in her hand, "her lover was nothing more than a monster who took her by force.  Perhaps she sought to escape the nightmare of a life he promised her."

Suddenly, the pressure in her hand released and a look of cold triumph lit Malfoy's eyes.  It was too late to take the words back, but she refused to look sorry that she had said them.  She kept her chin up, her expression challenging.  "You know."  His smile broadened a bit.  "You know, and I can assure you that your grandfather is very interested in you, Miss Granger.  You're becoming something of an obsession with him, really."  His gloved fingers caressed her hand, as if to sooth the aching his own grip had caused.  "He's most impressed by the fact that you actually managed to earn more O.W.L.S. than he did at school, and that you're breaking every one of his academic records.  You should hear him, crowing like the proud grandfather that he is."  The last few bars of the waltz were playing as Lucius twirled her towards the edge of the floor.  "I must confess I find that news quite promising as well."

"No Wiggentree would ever bind themselves to a Malfoy."  Her voice was very soft, meant only for the two of them to hear.

"No Wiggentree, of course, Miss Granger.  But what of a Riddle?"  He nodded with his head to indicate to Draco that he should come forward, and then spoke with a more elevated voice that his whispered words had been uttered with.  "I believe you are already acquainted with my son, Draco.  I'm sure he has been quite eager to demonstrate his skill on the dance floor."  He passed her still throbbing hand into Draco's, the black leather of his gloves matching perfectly.  "Take good care of her, son.  Remember that a lady should be treated like the most delicate of flowers."

"Yes, Father."  Draco bent over her hand, brushing his lips over the white leather, and then led her back onto the floor.  Thankfully, the next dance was not a waltz, so she was not required to be held as closely as she had been by Lucius Malfoy.  The greater distance allowed the air of the ballroom to cool her fevered skin.  "You look radiant tonight, Hermione, even more so than at the last ball we attended."

"Thank you, Malfoy."

"Please, it's Draco.  Call my father 'Malfoy' all you want, but call me Draco.  Otherwise things will become confusing."  She was acutely aware of how his thumb ran gently over the knuckles of her hand where he held it, moving much like a caress.  "Do you feel overwhelmed by all of this yet?"

"All of what?"

"Being passed around like some prize everyone hopes to win.  Mother actually laments that she doesn't have a daughter to do this for, but I can't see why any girl would submit to it.  Other than the robes and the jewelry, what is there to recommend it?"  She looked suspiciously at him and was surprised to note a genuine, playful light in his eyes.  

"Not much, actually.  I'd rather the tradition be one where everyone brings the young lady a new book."

"Now there's an idea.  Perhaps you can start such a tradition with your own daughters.  They're doubtlessly going to be every bit as clever as their mother."  

"Thank you, Draco."  His niceness, his earnest behavior was throwing her off balance.  Why wasn't he being pompous and arrogant as always, making lewd comments and behaving as though he was certain his Dark Lord would hand her over to him on a silver platter?  Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to be nice.  She was so off balance by his behavior, in fact, that she didn't notice that he had led her to the edge of the floor next to one of the doorways until he was pulling her from the group.  "What?"

"You've been on your feet all night.  You deserve a break.  Besides, I want to talk to you."  He took advantage of her confusion to pull her out of the light of the lamps and into a side room.  It was Uncle Albert's study, but she only knew this from her earlier explorations.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"The Yule Ball at Hogwarts.  We'll be expected to dance together, you and me.  And I was hoping, if no one's asked you yet, that you would go as my date."

She blinked, not believing what she was hearing.  "Leaving it a bit late, aren't you?"

Draco swallowed, and smiled.  "Well, as to that, you're not the easiest person to get alone, are you?  If you're not barricaded in the library, you're surrounded by your friends, none of whom would let a Slytherin just waltz into their conversations."  He led her over to a comfortable sofa and urged her to sit down.  "Come on, rest your feet a bit."  Instead of joining her, he pulled an ottoman sitting before a chair close by over in front of her and sat down.  She stared at him, unsure of what to say when he picked up one of her feet and placed it in his lap, removing the embroidered slipper and setting it aside before he began to massage her aching foot.  "These all night balls are hard on the body.  My mother told me that, when she was our age, it was the fashion not to enchant your slippers and try to dance so much that you wore holes through the soles from overuse.  Rather silly thing to do."

She was about to say something, but he applied pressure to the bottom of her foot in such a way that she moaned from the pleasure of it, her head falling back.  "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Mum, actually.  She insists on wearing these ridiculously high heels to her charity committee meetings.  By the time she gets home, her feet are killing her.  Dad's always too busy, so I help her when I'm at home.  She says that missing her foot massage is the worst part of my going to school."  Hermione chuckled, she couldn't help it.  "See?  You're feeling better all ready."

"We shouldn't be in here, you know.  They're bound to miss us."

"Let them.  You've been playing the perfect debutante all evening.  It's time someone did something for you."  He worked the massage up around her ankle and partway up her calf, not going so high as to make her overly nervous, before moving it back down the ankle, over the heel and middle of her foot, and finally giving a gentle wringing motion to each toe before he placed her slipper back onto her foot and put it down onto the floor.  He claimed the other foot, removed the beautiful slipper, and started the process all over again.

"Too bad I can't get this after every Potions lesson."

"You can if you want."  Draco dared a smile when he saw her eyes open in the muted light.  "All you have to do is ask."

"Oh, that would go over well.  The Prince of Slytherin kneeling down to give old Beaver Face Granger a foot rub after class."  There was humor in her voice as she reclined, completely relaxed, against the leather of the sofa.  Draco smiled at the sight of her, like some glistening kitten, boneless and content.

"Just let them try to call you Beaver Face.  I'll knock every tooth out of the heads."

"As I recall, you're the one who came up with that particular nickname."  Her brow arched in challenge.

"Well, let anyone but me call you that, then."  He grinned; though his eyes flicked down to watch how the swell of her cleavage danced with her chuckle.  He licked his lips briefly as he imagined what it would last like to kiss the swell of her breasts, how it would feel to peel the layers of fine silk from her figure.  Did they go so far as to place her in delicate undergarments as well?  "I'd like to have the chance to take care of you, Hermione."  He could hear the thickness that had come into his voice.  "I want to give you the world.  Don't you know that I'd give you anything?"

Hermione sat up with a gasp, her foot yanked from his grasp.  Her eyes had gone wide and he wondered if she had seen something behind them.  Draco turned around, only to see the empty doorway.  The movement of Hermione reclaiming her slipper to shove it back onto her foot brought his focus back to her.  "What?  What did I say?  Hermione, I didn't mean to offend you."  He reached for her, but she jerked away from him.

"No!  Don't touch me."  She scrambled up from the sofa and backed away from him, keeping him under close watch even as she warded him away with her hands.

"Hermione, what is it?   What did I do?  What did I say?"

"Don't come near me.  Don't you _ever_ come near me."  There was a wild, distant look in her eyes now.  Draco felt a twinge of fear mix with his concern.  He knew that the Wiggentrees were different, that their 'gift' often crippled them with snatches of memories that were rarely their own.  Was Hermione caught up in a memory now?  Had he somehow triggered some nightmare?  Not for the first time did he wonder just what had prompted the discovery of her and her family, and he feared that maybe the memories Hermione snatched from her Grandmother's past might be far more terrifying than even someone as strong as she could manage.

She fled from him, back to the 'safety' of the ballroom.  If she had any inkling just how many Death Eaters were among her family's guests, she would have run from the house screaming.  Draco knew his father still wasn't telling him everything, and he knew that there was something about Hermione and her grandmother that interested that Death Eaters greatly.  He only hoped that his father was sincere in his permission to pursue the object of his desire.  He hoped that, when the dust had settled, he would still have the girl.


	9. The Gift of Shared Senses

It had taken five house elves two hours to get her into her formal whites and prepare her hair.  It took three elves only an hour to undo it all.  By the time she was scrubbed, her hair washed and dried and her robes safely stowed away, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.  She was finally alone in the room her grandmother had lived in while she was here, in a massive bed that she had to use a small step to get into, much like Professor Snape's bed back at Hogwarts.  She was just about to climb up when someone knocked on her door.  Curious, she went over and opened it a crack.  Alex's smiling face grinned back at her.

"Hi.  Can I come in?"

"Sure."  She stepped away from the door and he came in, balancing a silver tray that held what looked like steaming mugs of hot chocolate and some sweets he had salvaged from the kitchens after the party.  He shut the door behind him and with her back to him as she was walking away, she didn't see him turn the lock.  

Hermione clambered up onto the massive bed, where Alex soon joined her.  He handed her the tray before climbing up himself, then took it back and set it on the bed between them.  "I thought you might like a little something before sleeping.

"I'd love something.  I'm starving."  And she was.  With all the dancing, there had been little chance to eat.  She eager claimed a chocolate dipped biscuit and bit into it.  The buttery confection inside seemed to melt on her tongue.  They sipped their chocolate and devoured the sweets in silence, until the last crumb was gone.  Then Hermione set the tray off onto a bedside table while Alex reclined on his side, propping himself onto his elbow, his kidskin gloves playing with the satin coverlet.  

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"For the most part.  My feet were killing me, but Twinkle rubbed them down with something after my bath."  Her short foot rub by the house elf had done more to banish her discomfort than Malfoy's, and hadn't been nearly as disconcerting.  She was in danger of getting caught up in those confusing moments again when she felt something warm brushing against her hand.  She looked down and saw Alex's leather clad finger brushing against her smooth, uncovered hand.  "Oh, I'm afraid I still haven't gotten used to the whole glove thing."

"You're lucky in that."  He was staring at her hand for a long moment, and then looked up.  She felt her breath catch in her throat as he turned those deep, velvet eyes onto her.  "Hermione, have you thought about what I asked you this morning?"

"Oh… that."  She licked her lips, unable to look away from him.  "Well, yes I have.  I…I want to, but I'm afraid you might get hurt.  I've read that sometimes the visions can last for days."

He sat up and moved a bit closer towards her.  "I'm willing to risk it, Hermione.  You're young, like me.  We don't have long and complicated lives behind us, a lot of memories to cloud up things."

"I've had a rather exciting life, Alex.  Some of it quite terrifying."

"And I've had rather boring life, one that might as well have been spent in prison."  His eyes seemed darker, and out of the edge of her vision she could see a bit of lace on the front of her night gown flutter, stirred by his breath.  "I'm not afraid."

He smelled of soap and chocolate, just as she figured she must smell at this moment, and looking into his eyes gave her that curious feeling again.  "What do I do?"

He smiled and pulled away, sitting up straight so he could pull off one of the gloves.  Her eyes moved to his hands, mesmerized as he tugged at the kidskin one finger at a time, eventually pulling the long glove from his fingers and revealing a soft, pale hand with long, tapering fingers.  They looked like the hands of an artist, as though they should be holding a brush, or molding clay.  She watched his hand as it drifted down, the fingers lightly stroking the smooth skin on the back of her own hand.  He traced each finger with his own, and then glided them over the back of her hand and wrist.  As though on its own, Hermione's hand turned over so that his skin brushed the inside of her wrist, and she let her fingers curl to stroke the inside of his.  Alex gave a shiver that made her freeze.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine.  That… I think I must be ticklish."  He pulled their arms over so that they could both lay down, their arms over their heads, hands and fingers drifting lightly over each other.  About six inches of space was between them as they looked into one another's eyes.  He smiled at her, a soft of glazed look in his expression.  "This is your wand hand.  When you hold it to your side, at the ready, you like to run your thumb over it, feel the smoothness of the wood.  You've often got ink stains on your fingers, but that isn't so bad now that you've learned a good scouring charm to get rid of them."  He licked his lips, the pink tip of his tongue winking into sight for only a second before he gave a little, almost soundless gasp, and smiled more.  "You like to run your fingers through the fur of your familiar.  It's thick and fluffy, a violent shade of orange.  You like to feel the vibration under your hand when he purrs.  You've held a lot of books.  Your favorite ones are bound in leather.  You like to run your hands over them for long moments before you open them, caressing them like a lover."

Her throat had gone oddly dry while listening to his whispers.  She swallowed hard.  "What do you know about lovers?"

His eyes came back into focus with a couple of blinks.  His impish grin came back.  "A lot more than I should.  I sometimes take my gloves off when I shouldn't, when I'm exploring the house on my own.  I keep coming across different memories, snatches of lives lived by our ancestors."  His eyes twinkled.  "Haven't you ever wondered why there are so many Wiggentrees?  It all has to do with an apparent inability to keep our trousers fastened."  

"What?"  Hermione started to giggle, she couldn't help it.

"It's true.  I've only found a few places inside the house where someone hasn't been intimate with someone else.  Husbands with wives.  Cousins with their mistresses.  Young girls with their tutors and a few young boys with theirs.  Just last month I was checking out an old linen closet on the third floor and found a memory of a cousin, looked to be around my age, with the school marm hired to teach him magic.  She had to be at least ten years his senior.  He had her pinned to the wall of the closet with her skirts and petticoats bunched up around her waist and his trousers down to his ankles, keeping her held up there by nothing more than his pounding into her over and ov…"

Hermione's free hand had shot up and clamped over his mouth.  She was shocked and scandalized, of course, but there was also the annoying fact that she could picture what he was saying.  The rational part of her mind reminded her that Alex had been sheltered for most of his life and therefore probably didn't realize that you didn't speak of such things in polite company.  "You need a better keeper.  You're turning into a regular little voyeur."  She jerked her hand away quickly when he licked her palm, wiping it dry on the coverlet.

"Is it really voyeurism when the subjects have been dead and buried for so long?"  He traced lazy circles in her palm above their heads.  "Wanna hear what I came across in the gardens?"

"No."  Her answer was sharp, but she didn't move away from him.  There was a twinge of curiosity, but she tamped it down.  Instead, she watched as he lifted his other gloved hand to his mouth and began to pull at the fingers with his teeth.  Using his mouth he pulled the other glove off, and then reached down to touch her free hand.  He closed his eyes as he played with her fingers. 

"You don't use this hand as much, mostly to carry books while leaving your right hand free to perform more complicated tasks.  You have a habit of crossing your arms when you're irritated with someone, like a barrier they have to cross to get through to you.  You've been to a ball before.  There was a boy from another school who was your escort.  He was nervous, shy even though he shouldn't have been.  He was famous, but he asked you instead of someone else. Well, no surprise there.  You're wonderful.  Why wouldn't he?"

Hermione blushed and looked way, flattered by the bold assessment.  She felt his fingers trail up her hand and over her wrist, then slide under her arm to rest on her waist as though they were dancing.  "He twirled you around the floor for the entire dance, doted on you like some precious treasure.  Smart man, that one.  He saw what no one else could."

"His name was Viktor Krum."

"The Seeker for the Bulgarian National Team?  Impressive catch, Cousin."  

"It didn't work out."

"I know.  I see that part.  Too bad, but if you ask me, he's the one who botched it.  You were only a few months away from fifteen and he was trying to push you into a magical betrothal bond.  What could he have been thinking?"

"People move faster where he's from."

"And he did try to change your mind, I see.  He tried to kiss you to his way of thinking before you went home."  Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes, not realizing that Alex had moved closer to her until she felt something soft and warm brush her lips.  She gasped and her honey colored eyes locked onto a pair of deep, chocolate brown ones that were now much closer.  Alex leaned in again and pressed his lips to hers a second time, but this time they stopped to linger a moment.  There was something odd about that gentle kiss.  It was light, but it felt like so much more.  Hermione shivered from it, and noted that the gentle pressure from his touch also felt different, as if his skin was on fire.  

"What's happening?"  She pulled back from Alexander and looked at their joined hands.  Slowly, she unlinked their fingers and traced his hand.  The fiery sensations were starting to fade, as well as the other worldliness of the touch.  "What was that?"

Alexander took a slow, deep breath, his eyes focusing on their hands.  "That, I suspect, is what being a Wiggentree is."

"I don't understand."  

"It's something I've seen hints of when I found memories around the estate.  On occasion I've caught whispers between different relatives when they came to visit the main house and I was in one of my hiding places.  I don't fully understand it all, but from what I've been able to piece together, sometimes when two people with the family 'gift' make physical contact with one another, they sort of… share senses."

"Share senses?  Is the gift supposed to work like that?"

"Only between those who have it, I think.  Those of us who are really finely tuned can touch another family member and know everything about them in an instant, like Aunt Lucille.  She can take off her gloves and touch any family member, and immediately know everything they've ever done and even what they're thinking at that moment.  Her stronger gift calls out to the one in the other person and they sort of… connect."

"But that doesn't explain why everything felt so different just a moment ago."

Alex smiled at her gently and laced their fingers back together.  "But it does.  Sharing senses.  You felt what you felt; my touching you, but you also felt what I felt, what your hand feels like to me.  But it goes deeper than that.  I feel what I feel and what you feel, but I also feel what you feel I feel."  He paused, frowning in consideration.  "That gets complicated, talking about it like that.  Look at it more like… standing between two mirrors.  You see a reflection of a reflection of a reflection."

"Doubling again and again into infinity.  That's why your hand felt so hot."  It was complicated, and somewhat exciting.  "But you were seeing my past."

"I was seeing your history with my 'gift', which can be considered a sixth sense, but our other five senses were locked in the moment, here in the present.  There wouldn't be room for anything else."

"So… one Wiggentree touches another, and the stronger gift rules out?"

"Something like that."  He leaned forward again as if to kiss her, but she moved back a bit.  "What?'

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"What are you afraid of?"

A good question.  What was she afraid of?  "Losing myself?"

Alex's smile became gentle.  "I won't let that happen."

"I'm beginning to think that you're not as innocent as you look."

"No one in this family is as innocent as they look."  He leaned forward again and pressed his lips softly against her own.  With an almost surprising swiftness, she became aware of the reflected sensations again.  She felt his fingers on her skin, the silk of her skin under his fingers, and was aware of both a dozen times over.  Their skin felt fever hot to her, and she knew hat it was the same for him.  His lips were soft as silk against hers, whereas she knew that her own lips were slightly chapped from days spent trudging from the castle to the greenhouses for Herbology and therefore slightly roughened against his.

Something hot and moist brushed against her lips and she could taste the remnant of the hot chocolate lingering there on his tongue.  Her lips parted as if answering a command, and he began a somewhat hesitant exploration which quickly grew bolder.  A sensation like two lengths of wet velvet rubbing against one another assaulted them both, wringing a whimper from deep within her throat.  She was aware of how fine the muslin of her gown felt beneath the fingers of his hand as he ran caressed her arm, moved over her shoulder, up her neck and tangled his fingers into her hair.  His other hand was still entwined in hers as he shifted their weights so that his torso was laying more atop hers then to the side.

_Daniel dragged his mouth from Maria's lips, trailing hot kisses along the line of her jaw and down the slope of her neck.  Her rich, ebony tresses were like silk against his fingers as he untangled them and trailed his hand downward, starting to nudge the lace of her gown over her shoulder, even as her own fingers slipped into the front of his robe._

Hermione gasped as she pulled herself back into the present.  It took her a second to get her bearings, and then she shifted a little to move her collarbone away from Alexander's mouth.  The motion caused her nightgown to shift further off of her shoulder where he was holding it.  She blinked up into his confused expression.  "What was that?"  She became aware that her right hand was nestled inside his night robe, fingers flat against the fine fabric of the sleep shirt underneath.  She pulled her hand out as though he were made of fire.

"Just a memory.  I've seen that pair before, though never in here.  He caught a lot of trouble for marrying her, a witch he found in Spain.  She had the Sight, foresight instead of hindsight.  The family felt it was too close to our own power to be safe."  He smiled and lowered his face to nuzzle the length of her collar with his nose, but she drew back.  "Relax, it's only a memory, a shadow of the past.  They can't harm us."

"This is a really bad idea."  It was difficult to think with him touching her.  The compounded sensations were taking longer to fade.  "We should stop this."

"Just a little longer, Hermione.  I promise I won't let it hurt you."  He moved up as she was about to protest again, silencing her with a kiss.  She fell into the whirlwind more quickly than the last time.  She felt herself begin to fly away, but it was difficult to care when her entire body felt as though it were aflame.

_Fiona was newly recovered from their last child and their forced celibacy had been hard on them both.  Her hands worked with a fevered pace to remove the fabric that kept her from touching her husband, longing to be with him again.  He was reluctant to stop kissing her long enough to remove the night shirt over his head and returned to his task the moment she had claimed the garment and thrown it aside.  Her hands returned to his body, savoring the feel of his skin under her fingertips._

For someone so slender, he was very well muscled.  Hermione's hands moved of his back and shoulders before moving down to run over his chest.  She felt the shiver in him as her hands grazed the sensitive places where he would normally be ticklish.

_Maria's nails dug lightly into his shoulders as he continued to work the gown downward over her torso, leaving a trail of light nips and moist kisses in the wake of the muslin and lace.  She had thought Englishmen to be cold and uncaring in bed, but her husband was always proving himself to be as passionate as any Spaniard.  Her head arched back as he claimed the tip of her breast with his mouth, her fingers curling into his hair._

The last bit of rational thought in her head screamed at her to pull him away, but the compounded sensations of the taste and texture of her skin along with the heat of his mouth upon her instead made her cradle his head in her hands.  Her back arched, pressing her torso against him.  The pounding in her ears was like the sound of two heartbeats, but that wasn't possible.  It couldn't be possible.

_Juliet was young enough to be his daughter, but she was the first woman he had desired since he had lost his beloved wife.  Twenty years was a long time to go without companionship, but he was not yet ready to commit to another marriage.  The flaxen haired witch didn't seem to mind the lack of a ring or vows.  For the moment she seemed content with their affair.  Slender fingers helped strip him of his clothing with practiced ease as he moved his way back up the length of her body to kiss her._

Alexander kicked the last few inches of his sleep pants off using his feet just as his lips reclaimed hers.  His hands were busy pushing the soft night dress further down and over her hips.  Both of them were beyond caring about right and wrong, neither entirely certain where each of them ended and the other one began.  It was all confusing, like a whirlwind, a glorious vortex that blended their souls and psyches together into one person.  Between the two of them they managed to shed the last of the fabric separating them, their skin fever hot as they pressed themselves together.  Seeking to perhaps move them both upon the bed so that their legs didn't hang off the side as they currently were, Alexander reached out towards the headboard, seeking the solid, old wood for leverage.  His hand connected with its polished smoothness.

_She cherished him, though perhaps not in the way that she should.  He was of a stronger build than Him, his shoulders more broad and his arms heavily muscled from a lifetime of hard work.  His physical form made her feel safe and protected, even though he could not keep her safe from what she feared most.  What was his relation to her?  A third cousin?  Maybe a fourth cousin.  She was beyond caring.  He was a wizard, but he had been blessed not to have the family 'gift'.  It was safer that way; he couldn't see what was happening to her.  Helena sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillows as Bartholomew ran his lips over her neck, his olive skin a dark contrast with her too-pale complexion._

Both of them broke off with a gasp, their heads turning to where Alexander's hand still clutched the headboard.  Hermione swallowed, hardly daring to believe.  "That was her."

"I know."

"Who was that with her?  Do you know that cousin?"

Alexander frowned.  "I'm not sure.  He'll be in the family records at least."  His dark eyes were contemplative.  "Did you feel all of it?  She was already scared; she was comparing him to…"

"Voldemort," she finished.  Swallowing again, she let her hand move up and travel over his arm.  "Can you call it back?"

Alex turned his gaze back to her.  Neither seemed to care at the moment that they were both naked and gasping, their bodies still shaking from the force of the shared senses.  This was far more important than either of them.  "I can try."

Hermione smiled and brought her hand back, brushing one of his errant curls back and tucking it behind his ear as he closed his eyes.  His brow furrowed in concentration, his hand still clutching the wood.  She nibbled her bottom lip as she waited, wondering for the first time if Alexander was able to call up his abilities at will, or if it was just the luck of the draw.  She was about to ask him when they lost themselves again.

_He had asked her questions, of course.  He had wanted to know why she was so thin, why there were such dark circles under her eyes.  She had forced a smile and tried to wave off his concern.  Bart had always been such a sweet person, always looking out for her when she was younger.  He was older than she, by about six years, and had just finished his studies at __Oxford__.  Her handsome, older cousin, distant enough to be a good prospect for romance.  If she had been allowed to make her own choice, this was the type of man she would have selected for herself.  Strong, calloused fingers were exciting on her smooth skin and she liked the tickling sensation his mustache gave her as he slowly kissed and tasted his way down her body.  A silly giggle escaped her lips as he ran the mustache over the flat of her stomach just before he moved lower.  She frowned, confused as to what he may be doing, and then she gasped as he lowered his mouth to that secret place between her thighs.  Tom had never kissed her there, had never taken the time to make her feel cherished and special.  His way was to dominate, overpower.  He gave nothing of real love and affection._

_But she had no patience for tenderness.  She wanted to feel clean again, to feel whole.  She wanted to be loved by someone who actually saw her as a person and not as a possession or a slave.  She lifted up enough to grip his Bart's shoulders, trying to pull him back up to her.  He was bigger and stronger than she was, but he took the hint.  Only, he moved slowly and at his own pace, ignoring her whispered protests.  When he finally did make it back to her mouth, he kissed her.  She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, but it didn't disgust her as she might have feared.  She returned his kisses happily, savoring the feeling of his heavier form pressing her down into the mattress and pillows.  They had to be quiet lest they wake the rest of the house.  The family would not understand it and she couldn't possibly tell them why.  She couldn't possibly explain to them why she needed this.  _

_Bart moved his lips from her mouth towards her ear.  He liked the way she shivered when he toyed with the tiny earlobe there.  One of his large hands caressed her leg, urging her to bend it.  She did, letting it slide up and over the firm curve of his buttock as he shifted his lower body, probing her entrance._

It was the pain that brought them both crashing back to reality.  Both of their bodies had gone rigid at it, but that had only served to drive him fully in.  Hermione's eyes blinked hard, gasping for breath as she stared, wide eyed at the ceiling above her.  She wasn't sure if Alex was breathing at all.  She could still hear both their hearts beating in her ears, fast and furious and very frightened.  Both of them were fully aware they had just stepped over a line they were never meant to cross.

"I'm sorry," she heard him whisper, his voice shaking.  "Hermione, I'm so sorry.  I thought I could stop it."

She could feel his heart breaking and her arms tightened around him reflexively.  "Shhh… it's all right."  But was it all right?  She couldn't blame him, not entirely.  She was the older one, if only by a little less than a year.  She was supposed to be intelligent and she knew the safeguards put in place to protect him.  She should have been more forceful when she had questioned the wisdom of their actions, but she had let her thirst for exploration and experimentation get the better of her.  

The most difficult part was that they were still physically close, pressed together down the entire lengths of their bodies, and joined in the most intimate of ways.  The closeness kept them from being able to shake themselves free of the shared sensations.  Thinking to begin to remedy the situation, Hermione tried to shift herself in order to get more leverage to help Alex move away.  Instead of helping, it only hindered.  They both got a feeling of concentrated discomfort from her body trying to adjust to the fullness now inside her, which was all but overwhelmed by the sensations of pleasure that came from him.  Again they froze, trying to compose themselves.  It appeared that they were stuck.  The slightest movements played havoc with their senses and neither of them had the real life experience needed to understand that the longer they remained as they were the more Hermione's untried form would be able to adapt to the situation, lessening both their pain.  

She licked her lips, guilt beginning to attack her from within.  The correct thing to do, the _proper thing to do, would be to quickly push him away and demand that he return to his own room.  That option held guilt as well, since she truly did believe that this was as much her fault, if not more her fault, than it was his.  On the other side of the coin, however, was the undeniable fact that the damage was already done and what was gone could not be reclaimed this late in the game.  To shove him away now would leave them both with an uncomfortable night before them and a nasty little voice in the back of her mind couldn't keep from pointing out that this may very well be the only opportunity that Alex would ever have to know this type of closeness.  As she held him in her arms, she compared both options and eventually came up with a familiar string of thoughts, only this time the thoughts were her own._

She turned her head a bit and whispered soft against his ear, his head still buried against her shoulder, still too ashamed to move.  "We'll have to be quiet.  We mustn't wake up the house."

He finally lifted his head to look at her, his expression heartsick and his eyes shining with tears.  She could still feel him in her mind and knew that he was torn between elation at what was being offered and sadness that it had all come this far.  She offered him a slight smile that she hoped was encouraging before tilting her head to kiss him.  He was hesitant at first, but he soon grew bolder.  Their decision made, they both allowed themselves to fall back into the vortex, allowed themselves to become lost in the storm of sensations.  If either of them had ever had prior experience they might have thought it odd that their loving lasted as long as it did.  It didn't occur to them that the very thing that allowed them to eventually cast aside the last few remnants of shame had their bodies and nerve endings so confused that fulfillment was kept just out of reach.  When one of them finally did break through that last wall that kept them from the end, and afterwards neither was able to separate who had reached that point first, it caused he other one to fall over the edge as well.  Alexander was able to bury his head in her shoulder again, his moans vibrating against her skin as she fought to keep her teeth clenched, holding back her screams.

When it was over, they pulled away as quickly as their desires allowed, Alexander rolling over to the far side of the bed.  They stared at one another in silence across the expanse of the dampened covers, not daring to let even so much as their fingers touch for fear that it would suck them both in again.  They stayed that way for an unknown amount of time, until Alexander was finally able to pull himself away from her bed, reclaim his scattered clothing and leave her.  Neither of them spoke as he did so.  

Hermione pulled herself together long enough to dig her wand out of her trunk and murmur several charms to freshen the bedclothes and clear the smell of sex from the air.  She went into the spacious bathroom attached to her bedroom and brushed her teeth twice before returning to her bed.  With her body still thrumming, sleep did not come easy for her.


	10. Desires and Demons

She wasn't sure how to do this.  What if he asked questions?  What if he interrogated her and found out about what else had happened?  Even after having a full night of sleep away from Wiggentree Manor her skin felt hypersensitive and her nerve endings felt exposed.  She knew where she went wrong, where they both had gone wrong.  She should have insisted that he keep his gloves on instead of giving into his whims, no matter how much she had sympathized with him.  If he had, things never would have progressed as they had done the other night.

_The family gift of hindsight.  All the should haves and could haves.  How does that explain the two times in the green house the following morning or the quick shag in the hideaway above the ballroom before you left?_  She shivered again at the memory of it, of losing herself entirely to a sea of sensations.  She prayed that the feelings would have faded by the time she saw Alexander again after graduation.  One thing was for certain; she'd never let herself be along with him again.  What had he said?  That there were so many Wiggentrees because of an apparent inability to keep their trousers fastened?  

"Or to keep our knickers on, apparently."  She mumbled the words to herself as she continued to pace within the stone archway that lead to a corridor where Professor Snape's office could be found.  The soft silk of her dress robes, Gryffindor Red, rustled with her movements, barely heard over to gentle crackle of torchlight.  She wanted to talk to him before the ball, both to let him know what she had learned and to ask for his help with her current situation.  She just wasn't sure how to broach the subject.

"Hermione?"  She whirled around to find Draco standing in one of the crossways of the dungeons, handsome in dress robes a deep black with silver trim.  He had been heading towards the stairs leading up to the main school, no doubt to do a last minute check of the preparations for the ball.  Now he turned and came towards her instead.  "What are you going down here?  We've only got another hour before the Great Hall opens."  He stopped about a foot from her, the scent of his cologne wafting towards her on the dungeon drafts, warm and spicy.

"I… I was coming to speak to Professor Snape.  There were some questions I wanted to ask him regarding our essay."

Draco smiled and gave a deep chuckle.  "Of course.  Don't you ever think of anything other than your grades?"

"I have to keep a step before the Head Boy."  She tried not to think of how rich and decadent his laughter sounded.  He had lost some of the sneering, nasal quality of his voice as it had deepened into a rich baritone.  It seemed to dance up and down her already over sensitized nerves.  

"I'll have to work harder to beat you, then."  He smiled down at her, mesmerizing her with those blue-gray eyes.  They reminded her of the time she was on the beach in France, looking out over the sea during a storm.  His eyes were exactly that color.  She was so entranced by them that she didn't know he had reached for her until his warm fingers wrapped around her own.  "You never did tell me if you would be my date for the ball.  There's still an hour to say yes."

"Oh… I… I told Neville I'd go with him.  He was too bashful to ask anyone else."  One platinum brow arched.  "Don't look at me like that.  He's a Gryffindor, and he's very sweet.  He just needs his confidence bolstered."

"And as Head Girl and a Gryffindor, it's your place to do just that.  I can accept that.  I don't like it, but I can accept it.  Just don't let him take a swing at me when I ask him for a dance."

"You want to dance with Neville?"  It was a weak joke, an attempt to cut the tension that was building up inside of her.  Draco shot her a smirk.

"You know what I mean."  His fingers trailed up her hand and over her wrist, and it felt as though little bolts of electricity were dancing on her skin.  She had to get away from him before she did something embarrassing.

"I need to get on with it."  She gave what she knew to be a timid smile and tried to step away, only to be blocked by an unseen barrier.  It felt squishy, like clear Jell-O, and pushed her back gently.  She frowned, confused, and reached out to touch it.  The barrier was there, and a hand out behind her revealed that it had sealed the two of them into a space barely two feet wide.  

Draco looked up at the ceiling and smiled.  He tapped her shoulder, and then pointed upwards.  She tilted her head and saw a bunch of mistletoe above them, the white berries creamy in the torchlight.  "We've been caught."

Dumbledore had introduced the annoying little bundles during the Christmas season the previous year.  They popped and traveled around the school and random spurts.  As long as a person was alone, with someone of the same gender or with someone too closely related to them, it was safe.  If, however, two people of opposite genders and with no familial affiliation walked under the bundles, they were trapped until they kissed one another.  Hermione had only been caught once, during the previous year, and had to kiss a first year in order to get out.  She had laughed when Ron had been forced to give a kiss to Millicent Bulstrode earlier in the month.

She was still staring at the insidious plant when she felt fingers move onto the nape of her neck.  With a gasp, she brought her eyes downward just in time to see Draco lean forward, pressing his lips to her own before she could murmur a protest.  Her lips, already as hypersensitive as the rest of her, felt as though they had been set aflame, causing her to gasp.  Draco took advantage of the situation and slipped his tongue between her now open lips, delving deeply for a better taste.  Ignoring the screeching voice in the back of her mind, Hermione pressed closer to him, straining on tiptoes to better deal with his greater height.  He took this as the invitation it unconsciously was and shifted his weight so that she found herself pressed up against the cool stone of the dungeon walls.

Her heart was hammering inside her chest.  After more than twelve hours of being trapped in a sensory overload brought on by the torrent of sensations from two people, having onto the input of her own body being touched by another was even more exciting.  Without his feelings to cloud and confuse, she could let herself drown in her own experiences.  Draco had been eating chocolates not too long before, apparently flavored with champagne.  The sweetness of them was still present on his lips and tongue.  This close up she could detect not only his cologne, but the subtle scent of soap underneath it.  It was a clean, spicy fragrance, mixed with his own, unique scent.  The warmth of his hands caressed her skin through the fine chiffon of her dress robes where he was stroking her arms, his fingers brushing against the swell of her breasts.  She whimpered softly in the back of her throat as he pulled his lips from her mouth and trailed kisses across her jaw line.  When he captured her tiny earlobe in his lips and teased it with an affectionate nip of his teeth, she thought her knees would buckle underneath her.

"What is the meaning of this?"  Suddenly Draco was gone, ripped away from her and slammed into the opposite wall.  She blinked, trying to clear her head.  When she was able to focus, she saw Professor Snape standing there in his dress robes of deepest black, his face white with fury.  He was glaring at them each in turn.  

"Professor Snape, we were trapped by one of the Headmaster's mistletoe charms.  We were just trying to get rid of it."

"A simple kiss is all that is needed, Mr. Malfoy, not full intercourse."  Snape's voice was ice cold and sharp.  Hermione flinched under the tone of it.  Quick as a striking viper, his hand shot out and gripped her by the elbow hard enough to make her gasp in pain.  Draco started, his eyes shocked.  "Go to the Great Hall, Mr. Malfoy.  Miss Granger will join you there shortly."  He yanked Hermione towards him and then ushered her down the hall to his office door.  It swung open as they approached and slammed shut behind them once they had entered. 

"Have you lost your mind?!"  With perhaps more force than he had intended to use, he threw her towards his desk.  She was forced to grab it to prevent herself from falling forward.  "First you ignore my warnings at your Coming Out and let him get you alone and now I find you clinging to him like some wanton strumpet from a Knockturn Alley brothel!  Do you want to find yourself pregnant at seventeen?  Is it your goal to throw away all your promise and potential?"

His words were like physical blows.  She didn't dare look at him.  She could hear his rage in his voice.  He had never been this angry before, not even that time during her third year when the Order of Merlin had been snatched away from him through her own actions.  She refused to look at him, concentrating instead on trying to keep herself from shaking.

"Answer me!"

"No, Professor, I have not lost my mind.  I… I appear to have lost my morals."

"That is obvious.  Care to explain where you lost them?"

A sigh escaped her as she finally allowed herself to sit down.  She shivered as the feather light material of her robes brushed against supersensitive skin.  Was her body ever going to cool off?  "There was… and incident at the Manor."  Her words were slow and weighty, enough so that he stopped fuming so much and sat down behind his desk.  He gave her enough time to collect herself, and then she began to speak again.  

She told him everything, not once looking up to meet his eyes.  Perhaps she didn't want him to see the fat, hot tears that were leaking from her eyes, see the shame that she felt at her own behavior.  She told him about Alexander, about how she had let him come into her room that night.  She told him about how what was meant to be an innocent touch somehow turned into something far more.  She told him about the snatches of memory they both seen, including the one about her grandmother.  She hoped that he would stop her at that point, but he let her carry on.  She confessed to the rest of it, the incident in the green house the following morning and the meeting in the hideaway, where there hadn't even been a memory to trigger it, just overwrought nerve endings responding to the slightest touch.  The same way she had thrown out every scrap of common sense she possessed just moments ago with Draco Malfoy.  

When there was nothing left to admit, she fell silent again.  Her breathing was ragged, but deep.  The air was cool on her cheeks where her tears had let them wetted, and she was dimly aware that she was gripping the arms of her hair with enough force that her fingertips were aching from the pressure against her nails.

"How many times in total?"

"Sir?"

"You and your cousin, how many times were you together?"

What difference did that make?  "Four times, sir."

"Impressive.  I'm surprised you're able to walk."

Her head snapped up, her jaw falling open.  Was that all he could say?  Ignoring her look of outrage, he stood up from his chair and walked over to a locked cupboard on the other side of the room.  "I will admit that, even from all of the reading I have been doing on your family since the start of the year, I haven't once come across this particular phenomenon.  Not surprising really, since the families that suffer it do not like to let it be known for precisely this reason."  He removed two phials from the cupboard, one containing a light blue potion, the other containing something milky white.  "What you have described is a particular price that people with telepathy or empathy often face.  Since such gifts run in families, what happened between you and your cousin is not unheard of.  When such gifts are in the hands of teenagers, things can get out of hand.  The compounded sensations coupled with overactive hormones have led to sexual encounters between cousins and even siblings.  Rarely do they happen between parents and children or uncles and nieces, as by the time the witch or wizard reaches full adulthood they have learned better control over their bodies."  He uncorked the blue potion and handed it to her.  "First, we make sure that there are no new additions to the Wiggentree line in nine months.  Drink all of it."

She took the phial and drained it of its contents.  It had a slightly sweet taste to it, like sugar in water, only thicker.  It slid down her throat and into her gullet where the magical elixir began a warming journey through her body, settling in the area of her lower abdomen.  As she waited for the warm, wriggling feeling to subside, he continued on in an almost scholarly manner.  "I will have to discuss this matter with your uncle, of course.  Do not worry; I will not let them blame you.  In truth, it is the Wiggentrees themselves who are to blame.  They should have warned you that this was a possibility.  Do not let yourself believe that Alexander did not realize that this may happen.  In fact, considering that he came to your room after the house was asleep, and locked the door behind him, it is obvious that he was hoping for something like this.  Perhaps he never intended things to progress as far as they did, but he, like any other sex crazed young man in the same position, would have found you too tempting a target."

"So you're saying I'm an idiot."  She certainly felt like one now that he had pointed out the obvious.

"No, I am saying that you were ignorant, which is not the same thing at all.  The rest of your esteemed family, however, would have known the possibilities and should have given you warning.  At the very least they should have kept a closer eye on the both of you."

She handed the now empty phial to her professor who was now uncorking the other potion.  "What is that one for?"

"I am not the Head of Slytherin House for nothing, Miss Granger.  Although love potions are forbidden at Hogwarts, potions are still brewed illicitly.  More than once I have found a need to counteract some young man's desperate attempt to attract a reluctant girl's desires, or vice versa.  This will squash your currently overactive libido."  She drank the offered potion, which flooded through her like ice.  "For the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Don Juan could ply you with all his charms and you won't get so much as a shiver.  After that, you will gradually return to the state of a normal teenager, always distracted by the thought of sex and drooling over the Quidditch captains."

Hermione shot him a dirty look, which he ignored.  "And what of Malfoy?  He's bound to notice the sudden change."

"That, Miss Granger, is something you'll have to figure out on your own.  Personally, were I in your shoes, I would avoid Mr. Malfoy as much as possible. Now, clean yourself up and head back upstairs."  He offered her a handkerchief, which she used to wipe her face dry.  As she did so, he rummaged around in his desk until he found a small but unbroken mirror, which he handed to her so she could see to cast a few simple cosmetic charms, banishing the puffy, red eyes and correcting her light makeup.  

"Professor, what about what I saw regarding Helena?  She had another lover during… perhaps this Bartholomew is my grandfather instead of Voldemort."

Snape took the mirror back and put it back into his desk, his dark eyes boring into her.  "It is a possibility, Miss Granger, although I would caution you against getting your hopes up.  All dates and clues would say otherwise.  Don't let this new bit of knowledge lull you into a false sense of security."  She must have looked downtrodden at the idea, because he went on.  "For what it matters, I do hope that it is the case.  I would save you the trouble of having Voldemort for a grandparent if I could.  Now run along, Miss Granger.  The ball cannot truly begin until you arrive to dance with Mr. Malfoy.  If you hurry, you might still be able to have dessert before the music starts."

~***~

"I was thinking about a light blue."

"She likes red."

"She's been surrounded by red for seven years.  It's time for a change."

"What if she doesn't like light blue?"

"Everyone likes light blue."

"I don't."

"Well, you're an idiot."

"That's a fine thing to say about your husband."

"I only say it because it's true."

"The love is overwhelming."  John rolled his eyes as his grown, intelligent wife giggled like a schoolgirl.  They were relaxing together on an old sofa, sharing a bottle of wine, their clothing grubby and stained from working all day clearing out the space above their garage.  When they had signed the papers on their home this had been an at-home office setup, but as they worked in their surgery in town, they had used it for storage.  Now they had decided to clean it up so that Hermione could use it as an apartment while going to college or until she had her feet under her enough to get a place of her own.  With a separate drive made running from the back side of the garage, it would allow her privacy without having to move too far away from home.  

"We should start looking for furniture.  She'll need a new bed and dresser."

"What's wrong with the ones she has?"

"They're awfully young."

"Well, she's young."

"John, they're for a child."

"She's our child."  He was aware that he was now sounding petulant.  It didn't help matters that his wife started to giggle again.  Emma never could hold her liquor well.  He gave her a half-hearted frown before he stood up, which caused her to fall over to the side once she no longer had his shoulder to lean against.  "Perhaps red is too bold.  I think we should paint the walls white, with little pink rosettes and a mural of a fairy tale castle on that wall.  I saw a carousel horse that would fit into that corner perfectly and we can put bars on the windows so no one can sneak in at night."  Emma started to laugh even harder, and knowing that he was sounding like a father steeped in denial, he plowed on.  "And we will get her a new bed, a small one that is only big enough for one person.  And a new wardrobe to match, complete with chastity belts."

"John, that's just silly."  She looked up at him, eyes shining with mirth.  She was about to say something else when her eyes shifted to the door behind him.  The color drained from her cheeks, her mouth falling open slightly.  It was an expression of complete fear.  It caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prick up and he turned quickly to see what was disturbing her.

Three men had entered the room while he had been on his tirade, three tall men in robes with steel masks that covered their faces.  John turned around fully, his heart thundering inside his chest and forcing himself not to scream.  He was aware of Emma getting up from the sofa and moving towards him.  He felt her warmth as she reached him, stopping barely an inch from his back.  He swallowed and hoped he could keep his voice steady when he finally spoke.  "Why are you here?"  There was no need to ask who they were; he recognized their 'uniform' from Professor Snape's description.

The center man bowed his head slightly.  "Our Lord wishes to speak with you and your lovely wife.  He is waiting in your den."  The other two men remained where they were as the center man moved to the side and made an inviting gesture towards the door.  John felt Emma's fingers slip into his hand, cold and shaking.  He gave them a reassuring squeeze and led her through the door.

Two more Death Eaters were waiting at the bottom of the narrow set of stairs leading from the door to the ground beside the garage.  The Grangers moved down the stairs in silence, aware of the five pairs of eyes that were watching them as they did so.  The door to the kitchen was standing open, and they encountered another man there, minding a cauldron he had set upon the range.  The sickly sweet fumes were almost too much to take when added to the suddenly unsettled wine in their bellies.  Both were too frightened to allow themselves to become sick in front of the encroachers.  They moved down the narrow hallway, past the living room where most of their entertaining was done, and into the den which also acted as a library and was usually only seen by themselves, Hermione and, lately, the Wiggentrees.  

It was because of some of the items present in the den that only a select few were ever invited in here.  Since receiving her letter to Hogwarts, this room had become the place where remnants of the Wizarding world were kept.  Moving photos of their daughter and her school friends, the text books from each year as she completed them and the gifts she found for them in Diagon Alley or the village outside the school were kept here.  There were too many things that would raise suspicions should other Muggles lay eyes on them that it was easier to keep this room private.  Now, however, there was a tall, thin man in a back robe examining their magical treasures.  He was currently studying a moving photo of Hermione and Viktor Krum that was taken by a young boy at school the night of the Yule Ball her fourth year.  It had always been Emma's favorite picture of their daughter with her resplendent in her light blue dress robes.  The photos of her coming out were not yet developed.

"Is this her?"  The man turned towards them, and Emma could barely contain her gasp of shock.  They had been warned, of course, that Voldemort did not fully resemble anything human.  His face was skull white, his eyes red and slitted like those of a cat and instead of a proper nose there were two slits for nostrils.  He looked more like some white, bloated snake than a man.  He held up the photo of the two young people dancing.  "This _is_ Hermione?"

"It is."  John barely opened his mouth to answer him, his jaw clenched tightly to keep it from shaking.  

Voldemort smiled and looked at the photo again.  "She is a pretty thing, the exact image of her grandmother at that age.  Perhaps a bit shorter, though."  He raised his red eyes to look at Emma where she stood behind her husband.  "Of course, your wife is rather petite as well."

He set the frame back onto the shelf where he had taken it and started to walk towards them.  "Well, my boy, let me take a look at you."  There was an almost triumphant gleam in his eye.  "Take after your mother, I see, very little of me in you by looks.  I suppose most of what you got from me would have been by power, had you not been robbed of that.  A pity.  You should have been the greatest sorcerer the world ever knew, but Helena kept you from that."  He narrowed his red eyes.  "She robbed you of you birthright."

"She had her reasons."

"Did she now?  And what do you suppose those reasons were?"

"She was protecting me from you."

Voldemort laughed a cold, high laugh that didn't suit him at all.  "From me?  No my dear boy, she was not protecting you from me."  He let his voice go soft and menacing.  "She was protecting the world from you."

John swallowed, one hand still holding Emma's, the other clenched into a fist by his side.  The creature was so close he could strike out at him with ease.  A dark rage boiled up inside of him, the rage of a son who was thinking of all the horrible things this 'man' did to his mother, the evil things that had broken her mind and driven her to attempt murder against her own grandchild.  This thing before him was the reason his mother was now in a secured wing of St. Mungo's as of three weeks ago, moved there in hope that the mediwizards would accomplish what an army of doctors had failed to do.  "Perhaps you're right, but that all hinges on the assumption that you are," he paused, almost choking on the words, "my father."

A hairless brow arched.  "_If?_  If I am your father?"  The tone of his voice was such that it was obvious the possibility otherwise had never occurred to him.  "My boy, who else could it have been?  If I have a flaw it is that I am a jealous man, and I would never have shared My Helena with another.  Still, I had considered the possibility that you would be unwilling to accept that I am your father, especially given the fact that I have had no say in your life until now."  He looked towards the door at one of his followers.  "Go and tell him that we are ready."

Voldemort made a sweeping gesture of the room with his arms.  "You see my family, your brothers, though no blood ties bind you.  This is but a small number of those who follow me.  All have been quite curious about you, as I have been.  Your daughter, my grandchild, has been a topic of interest to them for some time now, even before her lineage was discovered.  It was believed that she was a Muggleborn, an inferior creature who was reaching above her status.  How silly we all were to think that a Muggleborn could show such promise.

"And how silly your brothers are not to fully accept that you are my child, just as you doubt it yourself.  Though you lack magical powers, there is much of both your mother's family and myself in you.  You have my ambition, a fact proven by how you no doubt must have worked to overcome the stigma of an illegitimate birth to become the professional you are.  You have the intelligence of both your parents, proven by how you succeeded in your chosen profession.  And there is the profession itself; a dentist, a medical specialty, and mediwizardry has been the strongest focus of the Wiggentree line for as long as any can remember.  Even stripped of your powers as you were, you have done much that would make a father proud."

The sickly sweet fumes of the cauldron became apparent as the Death Eater returned with the one from the kitchen in tow.  They brought the cauldron into the den, setting it onto a coffee table next to Voldemort.  "The Patrilineage Potion; an antiquated idea but still quite useful.  It proves bloodlines to erase any doubts.  When samples of blood from the two people being tested are introduced to the potion it will react.  Should there be no relation, it turns darkest black with the consistency of water.  If the two are directly related, it turns crystal clear and hardens like glass.  The more directly related the two are, the faster the reaction."

John remained silent, ignoring the feeling of dread that was building up in his stomach.  The thing before him rolled up a long sleeve, baring a skeletal white forearm.  He then flicked his other wrist and a long silver dagger appeared in his hand.  With a deliberately slow movement, he sliced the skin on the inside of his forearm, allowing a line of crimson blood to well up on the surface.  With a slow, confident grace, he lowered his arm and allowed several drops to fall into the cauldron.  With a whispered incantation, the dagger became sparkling clean.  With an evil smile he flipped the dagger around and extended it handle first towards John.  "The only way to know for sure is to complete the potion."

John swallowed again, hard, and let go of Emma's hand moved down to rest at his waist.  Since his shirt sleeves were already rolled up from working in the garage all day, he had only to extend his own arm and draw the blade across.  He hesitated, a million thoughts running through his mind.  They ranged from a fear of seeing what the results would be to wondering how sanitary the blade could really be without sterilization.  He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and then drew the blade across his arm in a quick, slashing motion.  He met Voldemort's eyes again as he moved his arm over the cauldron and turned it downward so that his blood fell into the potion.  

The liquid inside the cauldron began to spark and boil.  The sounds it made were the only ones heard in the den as the gathering fell deathly silent.  It was as though the two different samples of blood were fighting with one another for supremacy, and perhaps they were.  After all, didn't fathers and sons always fight after childhood was left behind?  After too short a time, however, the noises from the cauldron began to subside until they vanished all together.  Voldemort's red eyes left John's and moved towards the cauldron.  A look of cold, hateful triumph settled on his face even as Emma gave a strangled sob and pressed her face into her husband's back.  John only moved his eyes to the side and down, then closed them as though in pain.

The bottom of the cauldron had become clearly visible through a substance that was like smooth, hard glass.  

"Joyous news; it is a son."  John clenched his fist around the silver dagger still in his hand, wishing he was given to violence.  He could imagine thrusting the curved blade into his 'father's' throat.  "Not that any of us are truly surprised by this news, of course."

John could feel Emma trembling, trying hard not to cry.  His own voice, when he had found it, was hard.  "It is an accident of birth, and nothing more."  He opened his eyes and glared at the thing before him.  "Now leave my home."

There was a disgruntled rustling among the Death Eaters, but he didn't care.  Voldemort merely gave him a superior look.  "There was no accident in your birth, John Marcus Riddle.  The only travesty in this case is the behavior of your dear mother.  But do not fear; you are not entirely without your uses.  I understand that my granddaughter is something of a genius, either matching or shattering my old academic records.  A prodigy among her generation."

"Hermione would never serve you.  I raised my daughter to know the difference between right and wrong, and I raised her to be smarter than to follow a would-be fascist."  He was uncaring if his words brought down the wrath of this man.  He would welcome death, secure in the knowledge that his child would never fall to the darkness.  Now that all had been confirmed, he knew his death would likely be better for Hermione in the end.

But apparently his 'father' was smarter than he had known.  "I daresay you hope I will kill you if you make me angry enough.  Perhaps you feel that, with you and your lovely wife out of the way, there would be nothing for me to use to keep my grandchild obedient.  Perhaps you are right, but I am aware of this fact as well."  He began to roll down his sleeve.  "You will live, my son, as will your darling Emma.  You will live not because you are my son, but because you are Hermione's father.  It is obvious that you have given everything for your child, nurtured and encouraged her throughout her life.  I never had the benefit of such a thing in my youth, but I am certain that had I had such parents as the two of you, I would have done almost anything to keep them safe."

He gave them another cold smile.  "It is a pity that you have been rendered powerless.  I can see that you would have been a force to be reckoned with.  It's all there in your eyes.  It truly is a pity."  He took out his wand and waved it towards the cauldron, which shimmered and vanished from sight.  The wand vanished again inside his robes as he walked around the coffee table towards the door, his followers starting to disappear one by one, each with a soft 'pop'.  As he reached the door, Voldemort turned around to speak again.  "Tell me, whatever happened to your dear mother?  I find that this little reunion has left me with a longing to see her again."

Emma's fingers tightened around John's waist as he turned his head to face the wizard.  "You'll find her grave at Charring Cross, where it's been for the past decade."

The pasty face bore an expression of what appeared to be regret.  "A shame.  I would have loved to have seen her again.  There is so much I had to… discuss with her."  Without another word, he, too, vanished with a 'pop'.  

Emma finally let go and began to sob in earnest, the sound harsh and heartbreaking.  John turned around, careful of the silver dagger still in his grip, and wrapped his arms about her.  Rage, more than fear, coursed through his veins.  The unspoken but clear threat from Voldemort against himself and his wife, and the clear intentions regarding their daughter, left him shaking with an impotent hatred.  He had never felt as powerless to defend his own family as he did at that moment. 

The soft rustle of a cloak caused him to snap his eyes open once more.  There was one Death Eater left, a man of slightly taller than average height.  His robes looked new and expensive and the steel mask shadowed his eyes so that the color was undetectable.  Emma gasped when she turned her head and saw him, but the man only stood there by the wall, watching them in silence for an extended moment.  He fidgeted as if nervous about something.  

"I'm sorry."  The words were spoken so softly that they were nearly undetectable.  John thought he must have misunderstood the man, but he said it again.  "I'm sorry."  Neither John nor Emma knew how to respond as the man remained a moment longer before he vanished like his companions, leaving them with only one another to hold onto.


	11. That Damn Bug!

_To Professor Severus Snape_

_Potions Master_

_Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Severus,_

_I was wondering if you could help me in locating a few texts that would cover the theory and history of _Katherine's Potion_. I had attempted to obtain them through the usual channels I've used when buying books for Hermione on her birthday and holidays, but as they are apparently considered 'Dark Magic' the owners of the shops have been unwilling to forward the information._

_Cordially,_

_John Granger_

_To John Marcus Granger, D.D.S._

_327 Rosewood Lane_

_London_

_John,_

_I'm not surprised that the shop keepers are balking at your request. However, even if they were less fearful, I doubt they would even know where to look for such volumes. Approaching the shops in Knockturn Alley, however, would raise unneeded suspicion. Instead, I am enclosing three texts from my private stores. Being a Wiggentree, I am certain you'd rather cut off your own hands rather than deface a book, so I feel comfortable in opening my private library to you. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have need of any further reference materials._

_Cordially,_

_Severus_

_~***~_

Hermione had managed to avoid further advances by Draco for the rest of the Yule Ball. With so many students watching, the Head Boy and Girl had to set an example. Professor Snape's potion helped a great deal and managed to keep her from attacking some poor boy on the middle of the dance floor. She didn't want to imagine the shock on Professor McGonagall's face had she suddenly thrown some dance partner down and proceeded to force herself on him. It helped further that, the day after the Yule Ball, Lucius Malfoy had called his son home for the remainder of the holidays. Several other students from Pure Blood families, all of whom had close relations under suspicion for being supporters of Voldemort, were also called home. The Headmaster had no choice but to allow them to go, against his better wishes. 

However, before he had left the school Draco had managed to arrange for a package to be delivered along with the rest of Hermione's presents. It had been obvious which one was from him. It had been professionally gift wrapped from a well-known and hideously expensive jewelry store in the Magical Market of Paris. She had never been so thankful that the Head Girl had her own, private room.  She wouldn't have wanted to explain the package to Lavender or Parvati.  She hadn't opened it right away, either, but rather hid it underneath her pillow when Ron, Harry and Ginny had knocked on her door.  It wasn't until they had exchanged their own gifts, joined the remainder of the students for the Christmas Afternoon Tea and enjoyed an expertly prepared dinner that she dared unwrap the gift in privacy.

The silver and green wrappings had revealed a black velvet box about three inches wide and six inches long.  Her throat had gone very dry just before she opened it, and once she had, she had almost dropped it in shock.  Glittering back up at her was an exquisite bracelet of diamonds and rubies set in platinum.  It was so beautiful that she had forgotten to breathe for a few moments after laying eyes upon it.  Though never one to let her head be turned by gifts, even she was enough of a woman to admit that presents such as this could turn a girl's head.  She had closed the box and tucked it into the safety of her dresser drawer, resolute in her decision to return it to Draco personally and explain why she could not accept such a gift.

Her decision to do so, however, was halted by his behavior after he had returned from the holidays.  There had been a sadness about him that she had never seen before.  Often she had caught him watching her with an almost heartbroken expression.  He looked very much like a child who had just had his favorite toy taken from him, or a puppy who had been kicked for a reason he could not fathom.  She just didn't have the heart to hurt him further by returning what he had doubtless thought was a thoughtful gift.  Not after seeing him like that.

Ginny was still giggly over the party at the Wiggentree estate.  She tended to recall parts of it in great detail and sometimes hinted at what a fine catch her brother Bill was.  Harry and Ron thought that Mr. Zabini's advice that she avoid his son was quite funny and decided that Mrs. Zabini must have been the Slytherin in the family, for her husband was obviously a Ravenclaw.  Ron teased her mercilessly about Old Man Diggle's pawing, so much so that she was forced to stoop to his level and ask him if he's spoken to his girlfriend, Millicent, recently.  Ginny had laughed so hard at that her skin had almost been the exact same shade of red as her hair.  When they were alone, Ginny had blushingly admitted that the lovely little diamond pendant she was now wearing had been a gift from Harry, but she kept it hidden under her clothing while at home so that Fred and George didn't torment her about it.  

"He gave me a new writing set in front of the rest of the family.  He was too shy to get me the necklace when they were all watching.  I think he was afraid that he might make them feel uncomfortable, giving me something so expensive with them all goggling at us.  He's rather sensitive about it."  Ginny was lying on her stomach across Hermione's bed, feet in the air.  Harry and Ron were at a meeting of the Quidditch team, discussing tactics only since the snow was still too thick for practice.  

"He always has been.  He once told me that he'd gladly split his entire vault with your family if he could.  He considers you all as family."  Ginny's face blushed scarlet.  "What is it?"

"Oh, just something we spoke about over the holidays, Harry and me, I mean.  He… he said that he's going to get a place of his own after graduation and that when I graduate he… he wants to ask my mum and dad if we can get married."

Hermione blinked and carefully set down her quill so she didn't muss up her Potions essay.  "Did he really?"  Ginny nodded, grinning from ear to ear.  "Oh Ginny!  That's wonderful!"  She got up from her chair and flopped onto the bed next to the younger girl, hugging her tightly.  "I'm so happy for you!"

Ginny hugged her back just as tightly.  "Thanks.  I just about cried when he said that.  I think he was afraid I didn't want to."

"Well that's the silliest assumption he's ever made.  I hope you set him straight."

Ginny giggled and nodded her head.  "I did.  I think I may have frightened him.  I all but attacked him."  Her blush deepened further.

"So?  You _are his girlfriend, aren't you?  Although, I will admit that I don't understand this fetish for redheads the Potter men seem to have."  She was rewarded for that quip by a sharp fist in the arm.  Both girls fell into giggles, rolling about on the double bed.  The portrait door swung open to allow Ginny's fiancé and brother entrance.  "Hey!  Don't you know you're supposed to knock when you enter a lady's room?"_

"When you're a lady, we'll knock."  Both boys gave a flying leap onto the bed as well, Harry next to Ginny, Ron next to Hermione.  Ron managed to fend off a blow from Hermione at the joking insult. "Just kidding, we know you're a lady.  But honestly, it's just you.  And it's not like the two of you were playing strip snap or anything."

"Now _that_ would have been something to see."

"Ugh!  Harry!  I don't want to see my little sister naked, and I'd rather you didn't either."

Ginny blushed, but snuggled closer to Harry.  Ron made pretend gagging noises against Hermione's shoulder.  "Ron, if you want Harry to be your brother one day, you'll have to get used to the idea that he'll be sleeping with your sister."

"Well, just as long as they get their own place so I don't have to hear them going at it, I'll be fine."  Ron grinned at Hermione.  "So, get any letters from your admirers?"

"Shut up."

"Mum and Ginny think that you ought to give Bill some serious thought, but I'd just as soon you didn't.  He's almost as brainy as you are, and I don't think that the wizarding world could stomach any children the two of you made together."

"I'm not going to marry your brother Bill."

"Why not?"  Ginny looked up from mid-kiss with Harry.  "Bill's wonderful.  Brains and good looks all in one package… and he's got a great sense of humor."

"When we went back home for Christmas after the ball, Mum was riding him about how he should've trimmed his hair before the dance at the manor.  Then she started dropping really blatant hints that he should send you flowers or something.  It's part of her master plan, see.  She wants you and Harry in the family so she'll be able to run your lives, too.  Probably thinks that you can't take care of yourselves."

"Well, at least her heart is in the right place."  Hermione started feeling around Ron's robes, making him squirm.  

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for chocolate," she answered matter-of-factly.  With a triumphant grin she plunged her hand into one of his pockets and pulled out a chocolate frog.  With a smile, she opened it, caught it and handed the card to him while she bit into the enchanted sweet. 

"Typical.  After me for my chocolate."

"It's the only thing you're good for."

"Heartless woman."  He gave her a playful nudge.  "That's going to spoil your dinner, you know."

"How far is dinner?"  Harry asked, breaking free from a kiss.  Ginny scowled up at him, as though insulted his stomach might come before her.

"In about twenty minutes.  That's why we came up here, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he grinned down at his girlfriend with her mulish expression, "We were coming to fetch the two of you.  Come on, let's go."  He slid off the bed, grabbing Ginny's hand as he did so.  He pulled up her and started dragging her to the door.

"Want me to carry you to the Great Hall over my shoulder?"  Ron grinned at Hermione, waggling his ginger eyebrows.

"No, I think I'll pass."  She gave him a quick tickle before scrambling out of his way and hurrying towards the door.  She took off down the hallway at a run, Ron shouting something about what a bad example she was setting behind her.

~***~

Draco liked this little spot.  It was just barely large enough for two people, if those people were very affectionate and didn't mind being pressed together with little room to move.  It was a perfect place for a single person to sit and go unnoticed.  He had found it in his first year when he had needed a place to go and get away from those sycophantic goons of his.  He sat there now, his head in his hands, his fingers gripped in his pale blond hair. 

What did he do now?  Did he confront her with what he knew and offer his shoulder to cry on?  Did he rat out her secret to her friends, whom he seriously doubted had the slightest clue about it?  Or should he just run to the top of the Astronomy Tower and scream out against the injustice of it all?

_His_ granddaughter!  The Dark Lord's granddaughter!  No wonder his father was all hot and bothered about what he saw as a too-slow pace of seduction.  Lucius Malfoy was probably salivating over the prospect of having such a strong tie to his master as marrying his son to Hermione would bring him.  Draco's head had been pounding ever since his father had taken him with him to the little 'meeting' at the Grangers' residence.  

He could still see the entire event in his mind.  He could see Hermione's father, his shoulders rigid as he faced the man who claimed him as his son.  He remembered how her mother hand hidden her face against her husband's shoulders, offering him her support.  Was that what a real couple looked like?  Were the photographs of three people with warm smiles on their faces what a real family looked like?  Though he never would have admitted it to anyone other than himself, he had always envied Ron Weasley.  His family may be poor in gold, but they were so rich in other ways.  Arthur Weasley stood by his convictions and wore his heart on his sleeve.  He and his wife would likely eat the lowliest cuts of everything and wear the meanest rags for months on end to make sure that their children had all that they needed.  Though Ron wore robes that were likely passed down to him from at least two of his older brothers, he always had what he needed and the love of a large family behind him.  

Love that was the one thing Draco never had in abundance.  His mother tried her best, but it was difficult with a git like Lucius Malfoy as your husband.  The master of the house didn't encourage signs of affection and caring.  Narcissa was expected to be a cold, untouchable beauty, and she had learned the skill well as long as her husband was there to criticize.  When Lucius was gone, and he was often out of the home under the pretense of business, she allowed herself to be somewhat more like an affectionate woman.  When she felt it was safe to risk it, she would shower her son with kindness.  

Narcissa's idea of showing love was buying expensive presents, and it hadn't been until coming to Hogwarts that Draco had learned that there were other ways for parents to bond with their children.  Pansy's mother loved to work with clay, and had passed that love to her daughter, indulging in large masterpieces that took four hands to complete in a summer during the holidays.  Goyle's love of food came from all the times he spent in the kitchen alongside his father, who had a secret fondness for cooking that he hid from even his lifelong friend Mr. Crabbe.  Terry Boot of Ravenclaw collected stamps with his own father and Ernie McMillan of Hufflepuff had mastered the piano so that he could play accompaniment to his mother's flute.  He wondered what little past time Hermione shared with her own mother and father.  After seeing her family's home, he could easily imagine that they probably selected some literary masterpiece each summer and took turns reading it aloud in the cozy atmosphere of their den.  

From his little hiding place behind the large statue of Lady Rachael of Galonondale, a rather odd mix of sorceress and warrior who lived during the Burning Times, he heard footsteps echoing through the hall, coming closer.  Lowered and excited voices drifted on the chilled January air.  "I can't believe it.  Not Hermione Granger!  She's… well… she's _Hermione."_

"I know.  I told Mum she's off her rocker, but she's an _editor_.  She sees all the stories that deal with Society and such before they're put to press.  She swears that's what Rita Skeeter put in the article."

Draco tilted his head against the cold stone of the alcove, hidden in the shadows of the statue but able to see through a gap between Lady Rachael's cloak and the wall.  Two girls were walking through the hall.  One was some chit he didn't know wearing Hufflepuff colors, the other was Juliet Norquist from Ravenclaw.  He knew that Juliet's mother worked for _The Daily Prophet_ and was bane of many Society matrons.  Her turn of phrase could make or break a reputation.  He felt his blood turn cold.

The Hufflepuff girl started shaking her head just before they passed out of sight.  "But this is _Hermione Granger!  She's one of Harry Potter's dearest friends!  Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let her be that close to Harry if she had anything to do with You-Know-Who."_

"She's probably using some kind of Dark Magic to hide her true self.  You know how brainy she is."

The girls were now out of earshot, their gossiping become too soft to hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.  Draco swallowed the giant lump now lodged in his throat and sat there in muted shock for an extended moment before bolting from his hiding place.  Breakfast had begun about half an hour earlier, and after obsessively watching Hermione over the past six years, he knew she would be at the Gryffindor table with Potter and Weasley.  He could claim some bit of Head Student business and pull her away, take her someplace quiet where he could warn her and give her a chance to prepare for the onslaught, if he could just manage to beat the morning mail.

It's an odd truth, but time really does seem to stretch out when you need it to move faster and hallways do seem to grow longer when you're trying to run through them.  It appeared as though the very castle itself was plotting to keep him from reaching the Great Hall in time.  Twice a staircase shifted while he was running down it, forcing him to take a different route.  He plowed through a gaggle of first years, shoving them roughly aside when they blocked his path.  Peeves, seeing that Draco was in a hurry, decided to amuse himself by toppling suits of armour into his path.  

He finally made it to the Great Hall, skidding to a stop and pausing a moment to smooth his pale hair before entering.  It might raise suspicions if he made an appearance looking like he had just run the entire length of the Quidditch Pitch a dozen times.  He tried to will his heartbeat to stop pounding in his ears, but even over the rapid thumping, he heard the cold, unsettling sound of hundreds of voices whispering excitedly.  Draco felt as though the bottom dropped out of his stomach, but he forced himself to walk towards the open doors of the Great Hall and step inside.

_The Daily Prophet_ had already arrived, and the students were already discussing what was no doubt the front page story.  His eyes quickly sought out Hermione, locating her at the Gryffindor table where she sat across from Harry and Ron, staring down at her own paper.  Her skin was very pale, paler than Snape's, even paler than the school ghosts.  She looked somehow diminished, as though she wanted to shrink into nothingness.  Potter was talking to her, but she wasn't responding.  Draco watched as he reached across the table and pulled the paper out of her hands, turning it around so he could see it.  

_Don't read it, Potter._  He saw Weasley's head lean over to examine the article with Potter.  Hermione was staring down at the table, as though she still held the paper in her hands.  Draco tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched her two best friends look up from the paper.  They must have said something to her, because she suddenly looked up at them, then looked around the Great Hall.  The other students were looking at her while whispering to one another from behind their hands.  She whipped her head back around to look at her friends, and Draco could see that their mouths were moving, probably asking her to deny what was written on the page.  She looked as though she were going to break down into tears as her shoulders began to shake.  And then, Hermione did something very unlike a Gryffindor.

She ran.

~***~

Harry and Ron looked at the now empty place where their best friend had been sitting just a few moments ago.  She hadn't even thought to grab her book satchel.  Harry noticed this right away, his mind forming the thought that she'd be very cross with herself if she misplaced her book satchel.  

"Harry?  It can't be true… can it?"  Harry turned his head to look at Ron.  The taller boy had gone a rather odd shade of green, which made his freckles stand out even more.  "I mean, this is Hermione.  There's not an evil bone in her body.  There's no way she could be related to… to _Him, is there?"_

Related to him?  Related to Voldemort?  Their Hermione?  It didn't seem possible, and they knew from experience that Rita Skeeter wasn't above printing lies.  

But her face, Hermione's face.  The look in her eyes when she had seen that story, as though she knew that particular bit of venom all too well, but was still shocked to see it in black on white.  That horrified, pained expression as she realized that everyone was talking about her, that all the whispers were about her.  That mournful, sorrow-filled look in her eyes as though her whole world was crashing down about her.

Harry leapt up and knocked aside a jug of milk, sending it splashing over Dean Thomas' copy of the paper.  Dean hardly noticed, he was still in shock.  Lavender and Pavarti looked up in surprise, watching Harry grab Hermione's bulging book satchel and drag it across the table towards him as he climbed off the long bench that served as seating for the students.  "Come on, Ron.  We've got to find her."  He slung the satchel of his shoulder, grabbed his own bag with his other than, and ran between the tables towards the door.

They went to the library first, since that was easily Hermione's favorite place.  Unfortunately, she wasn't there.  Nor was she in Professor McGonagall's classroom, and when they tried the office they found Professor McGonagall who asked them what was wrong.  Ron, who hadn't spoken a word since leaving the Great Hall, offered her the newspaper with a shaking hand.  The Transfiguration teacher scanned the article, her face going white.

"Has Miss Granger seen this?"

Ron nodded, still unable to speak.  Harry had to talk for both of them.  "Yes, Professor.  She got upset and ran out.  We're looking for her."

"Good, keep looking then."  She rolled up the paper in her hands, and Harry noted that her expression was one of mixed concern and rage.  "And you have the day off from classes, all three of you.  Once you find her, take her directly to the hospital wing and stay there with her.  Do not let her out of your sight."

What?  "Professor!  You can't think that she's dangerous!  It's Hermione!"

"Of course I don't think she's dangerous, Potter, but she is definitely going to be distraught.  She needs you both right now, even if she doesn't realize it herself.  Now off with you both!  Find her and get her to the hospital wing."  She shoed them out the door and locked it behind all of them before she headed off in a direction that would take her to the Headmaster's office.  

"Harry?"  Ron had found his voice again, but it as oddly hoarse.  "Maybe we should try the map.  She wouldn't leave the school, and the map would show us where she is."

The map!  Why hadn't he thought of that himself?  His idea had been to check the Astronomy Tower next, but the map made much more sense.  The pair of them hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited all three book satchels onto Harry's bed (they wouldn't be needing them now) and dug the Maurauders Map out of his trunk.  Tapping his wand to is, he muttered the password and waited impatiently for the map to draw itself out.  It seemed like an eternity before the sprawling lines finally formed a complete drawing of the school. Harry and Ron both leaned over the map to peer at it closely, making their forehead bump into each other.  They scoured the multitude of red dots until they found one labled "Hermione Granger" in a particular girls' bathroom they were rather familiar with.

Harry wiped the map clean before they both bolted from the dormitory, down the spiral staircase and out the portrait hole.  Everyone else had just begun their first class of the day, making the corridors empty enough that their quickened footsteps echoed against the stone walls.  With everyone in class, there was no one to notice two seventh-year boys entering a girls' lavatory.  

She wasn't in one of the cubicles as they had expected her to be.  Instead she was sitting in a corner by the far wall, her arms wrapped around her legs and her head on her knees.  Her mass of bushy brown hair draped down to cover her arms but did little to muffle the deep, soul-wracking sobs that were coming from within her.  Ron and Harry exchanged worried looks before daring to walk towards her.

"'Mione?"

She flinched as though Ron's voice had been a slap.  Hermione's head came up, her face barely visible as the brown hair fell over it.  Her nose was red from crying, as was the one eye they could make out.  She gasped and scrambled to her feet, pressing herself into the wall as though afraid of them. 

Harry was alarmed by this odd behavior.  "Hermione!  It's us, it's Harry and Ron.  We came to find you."

Hermione didn't speak, and when Harry took a step towards her she tried to squeeze herself more tightly into the corner.  "Don't!"

"C'mon, Hermione!  You can't think that we care what that stupid article says!"  

"But it's true, Ron!  All of it!"  She sniffed, her expression one of absolute misery.  "He really is my… my grandfather."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry looked at Hermione and felt as though a knife had been twisted deep inside his gut.  She had come to school this year as the same vibrant and courageous girl they had known since they were eleven, thrilled at being Head Girl and at discovering her lost family.  Now she seemed somehow diminished and worn.  Harry felt his heart break, because somehow he knew what the trouble was.  "Because she feels dirty," he said in a soft tone.  Hermione looked up at him from the curtain of springy, brown hair.  "I know, Hermione, because that's how I felt in our fifth year when I thought Voldemort was possessing me.  I felt unclean, like I didn't deserve to be in the same room with decent people."

He walked forward, not reaching out to her for fear of causing her to bolt, but not willing to let her get away.  "But it isn't true!  It doesn't matter whose blood you've got in your veins.  You probably thought Ron and me would turn against you if we knew, didn't you?"  He didn't wait for her to answer, but continued speaking.  "That's probably the first stupid thing you've ever thought, Hermione.  After all we've been through together, how could you think we'd turn our backs on you?"

"This… this isn't some broomstick or… or a rat."  She seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with her hands.  Finally she settled for using them to push her hair back from her face.

"Nah, those things were actually important.  This is just Voldemort."  Harry and Hermione both froze in place, then turned their eyes towards Ron.  He stood there with his hands in his pockets, the color back in his cheeks and looking surprisingly calm.  When he noticed that both of his friends wore the same pole-axed expression, he shrugged.  "Well, it is."

"Ron… you said 'Voldemort'."

"So what?  Correct me if I'm wrong, Harry, but ain't that his name?"

"But… you can't bear to even hear his name.  You even flinch when Hermione says it and then scolds you for flinching."

Ron gave another shrug.  "Dunno why the change.  I guess he just doesn't seem as scary anymore.  I mean, he just doesn't seem as bad if some of him is floating around inside Hermione.  I know she'd never hurt us, and she's broken all his old school records.  She's smarter than he is, and she's on our side."  He gave Hermione a goofy sort of grin that seemed to coax a short and incredulous little laugh from her.  "Besides, it doesn't matter who your family is.  None of us can help that.  I mean… most of mine's all right, but there's still Percy.  And look what Harry's stuck with.  So you've got a little Voldemort in you.  You've also got a bit of Wiggentree and a bit of whoever your mum's folks are.  One bad egg in the family doesn't mean all of you are bad.  You've never killed anyone and you've never used an Unforgiveable.  You're who you choose to be, not what you're born from."

Harry grinned at Ron, something inside him relaxing as though it had been tensed up in fear that he'd have to play referee for his best friends again.  He turned to Hermione, who was finally starting to calm down.  "Ron's right, it doesn't matter who you relations are.  It's like Dumbledore told me during our second year:  It isn't our abilities that make us who we are, but our choices.  You choose to be good, to be on the side of the light.  That's who you are, and no matter how much Voldemort tries to change that, that is who you'll always be."

Harry finally dared to reach out to Hermione and take a hold of her hand.  He applied a gentle, but steady pressure until she moved towards him.  Once she was standing next to him, he pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her tear-streaked face. "Now, stop blubbering like a first-year Slytherin and start acting like a Gryffindor.  Professor McGonagall has given us all the day off.  Don't look at me like that; you're in no state to go to classes!  We're supposed to take you up to the hospital wing and let Madame Pomfrey have her fun fussing over you and try to smother you with the bed sheets.  Don't worry, Ron and I will be there the entire time."


	12. Undo What Has Been Done

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Finnegan. I said that they should toss Granger out on her bum before she starts killing people."

Seamus stood up from his worktable, hands clenched, but Terry Boot beat him to it by whirling his fellow Ravenclaw seventh year around and punching him dead on. A Hufflepuff got up to pull Boot off, but Seamus grabbed him from behind. In short order Herbology had turned into a free-for-all with Professor Sprout shouting for them to quiet down.

The same had been happening all over the school as loyalties became sharply divided. Ironically, it was the Muggleborns and the half bloods who sided behind Hermione in the greatest numbers. Gryffindor house and the members of the D.A. from their fifth year had formed a seemingly impenetrable wall about her. For her part, however, Hermione was lifting her chin and sailing through stormy waters with calculated indifference, stepping in when she felt it was needed.

She gripped her accuser by his shoulder and pulled him free from Boot's gasp. "Enough, Terry. Let him speak." She turned to the other student, who had suddenly gone chalk white and trembly. "You have something to say to me?"

The boy looked to his few supporters, smaller in number now that those who still considered Hermione a friend and ally were standing shoulder to shoulder behind her. He swallowed and tried to keep his shoulders from shaking. "Y… yes. You shouldn't stay here. You don't belong around decent people."

"Mr. Whitehall!" Professor Sprout stormed up between the divided students. They had forgotten that this was a class. "I will not tolerate another word! Class, you are dismissed for today, but I expect an essay on the current chapter on my desk by Friday. Three feet of parchment." There was a collected groan, which made her scowl all the more. "Be thankful I don't throw the lot of you into detention! Now, you, Mr. Whitehall, will come with me. I expect the Headmaster will want to have words with you."

They gathered up their books and left the class, now left with the entire afternoon to themselves. Neville scowled. "That's hardly fair, loading us all with homework. Let Whitehall and his cronies do it. They started it."

"And we were going to finish it, Neville. I appreciate that you all are standing up for me, but we have to avoid getting into trouble."

He rounded on Hermione, brow furrowed. "But it's pure stupidity, them all turning on you like that!" Seamus nodded in complete agreement with his fellow Gryffindor. "I mean, Harry still trusts you. I still trust you, and I've got more reason to hate You-Know-Who than most. You know what he and his followers did to my parents! You've seen them! I don't blame you for that, you and me were just babies, and you were still thinking that you were a Muggle."

Hermione gave him a grateful smile. She had been terrified that her housemates would turn against her once they knew the truth, and had been relieved beyond measure when that had not happened. "That's because you judge a person by their own merit, Neville. There aren't many clever enough to do that." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which made him blush scarlet.

"Hey, Hermione. Got one of those for me?" Ron had come out of the charms corridor sporting a rather impressive split lip. He gave her a lop-sided grin. "It might help with the smarting. We had a little trouble in our study group."

* * *

"I will stand behind my decision, Minister. Hermione remains at Hogwarts."

Fudge spluttered incoherently for a moment, his face darkening. "Dumbledore! The girl is a menace!"

"Don't be preposterous!" Severus admired Minerva's restraint. She was standing with her fists tightly clenched, her wand still within her sleeve. Had it be him, and one of his students, he would have turned the Minister of Magic into a toad long ago. "Hermione Granger is a dedicated student and an asset to the Wizarding World!"

"She is the daughter of You-Know-Who! Parents are concerned that she will attack their children."

"Of all the outrageous…"

"Minerva, please. We are all on the same side here." Dumbledore poured a snifter of brandy for the Minister of Magic. "Hermione Granger has an unfortunate biological heritage, but only from one man. The rest of her family, both magical and Muggle, is exemplary. No one can find fault with the Wiggentrees and her mother's family is made up of generations of decent, upstanding individuals. As for Miss Granger, herself, she has been nothing short of a delight to teach and has already proven herself to be against Voldemort and his followers. She was one of the students who went to the Ministry of Magic to stop the Death Eaters in her fifth year."

"Yes, but what is she likely to do now that she knows her connection with You Know Who?"

Minerva gave a little growl. "Minister, do you even _have_ a brain? She has been attacked by Death Eaters. She has seen her classmates and friends suffer from Death Eater attacks. She knows all too well what sort of monster Voldemort is and she only learned of her connection to him by nightmarish visions of him raping her grandmother! Why would she ever stoop to working with him? She's more likely to lead the charge to destroy him!"

Severus cleared his throat. "I will admit that Miss Granger can be a trial in class, with her constant sucking up to teachers and inability to keep silent and let others answer questions for a change," he ignored Minerva's sputtering, "but she is not evil. If anything, she is too tender hearted. She would never have the ruthlessness required to being following in her grandfather's footsteps."

Fudge looked about to say something else, but Dumbledore cut him off. "Minister, the decision of who will be allowed into this school and who will be sent away falls to the Headmaster. I say that Hermione Granger has done nothing to warrant expulsion. If anything, it is for her own safety that she remains at the school. Hogwarts is the safest place for her at this time in her life." The minister made to say something else, but Dumbledore cut him off again. "My decision is final, Minister."

Cornelius looked fit to be tied. He shoved his bowler hat on his head and stormed out. Severus arched a single brow. "We're likely in for another attempt by the Ministry of Magic to take over the school."

Dumbledore unwrapped a piece of candy. "I believe that Cornelius has too many pressures from other areas at the moment to trouble with Hogwarts. There is a war going on."

Minerva was tapping her foot. "Meanwhile, we have a school full of children prone to breaking out in fights over Miss Granger. I would not have thought any of them could question her loyalty to this school and to us."

"Fear breeds suspicion, Minerva. And war causes a great deal of fear."

Snape was about to speak when he felt a tug at his robes. He looked down to see a house elf by his side, holding up a letter to him. "Begging your pardon, Professor Snape, sir, but this came for you. It is marked urgent." Severus took the letter. It was in a Muggle envelope, sealed with a gummed strip rather than wax, as a wizard would do. He tore it open and took out a letter. Unfolding it, he glanced over it with a dark expression.

"Trouble, Severus?"

"Perhaps. It is from Emma Granger, she wishes me to come to their home immediately." Severus folded up the letter and tucked it into his robes. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but I should go see to this."

Albus looked surprised. "And your class this afternoon?"

He scowled. "It will have to be cancelled, but I am assigning an essay on invisibility potions, four feet in length. That should keep them out of trouble."

"Of course. Be careful, Severus. Call us if you need help."

Severus nodded in response and walked over to the floo. He selected a pinch of powder from a silver snuffbox on the mantle and tossed it in. Taking the floo network, he made his way to the private room in the Three Broomsticks that Madame Rosemerta kept closed for use for a 'private party' and apparated from there. He soon found himself in the Grangers' warm, inviting hallway.

There was a sound of someone being surprised by the loud crack of apparating. A moment later, a rather strained and weary Emma peered out from the kitchen. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw who it was. "Professor Snape, thank you for coming."

Severus studied the tight look about the woman's eyes with some concern. "What has happened here?" She had come into the hall to meet him and he noted that her skin seemed pulled tight across her bones and almost translucent.

"It's John. He shut himself up in the basement a few days ago and refuses to come out. He won't even come out to eat. He even cancelled all his patients at the clinic. There have been some truly foul odors coming from there. He keeps his chemistry set down there, but it's never been this bad before. And this morning… I woke up to the house shaking."

Severus frowned. "I see. Has your husband received any unusual… packages? By owl post, perhaps?"

She frowned, and then nodded. "Yes, right before he went down there. I can recognize the owls that the Wiggentrees use, but these were different. They were carrying these grubby packages and the birds themselves just seemed… wrong."

Snape nodded. "Mrs. Granger, I want you to go to your clinic. Behave as though nothing is wrong. You are likely being watched at all times, so we must keep up an appearance of normalcy."

"But what about John?"

"I will see to your husband. Right now you need to appear as though nothing is wrong."

Emma gave a glance over her shoulder towards the kitchen, and then gave a shaky nod of agreement. Severus remained where he was as she collected her coat and her handbag before leaving the house. After that, he moved into the kitchen and towards the door leading into the basement. Pulling out his wand, he unlocked the door before lighting the tip and moving down the stairs.

"Dr. Granger? Can you hear me?" There was only a slight scuffling. He detected the scent of potion ingredients. Nightshade and ginger root were the most easily identified, but they were masked under something that came across as dark and sinister. "John?"

"She makes it look so easy."

Snape followed the voice to find John sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, hidden between two shelves crammed with books and items for his chemistry set. "John?"

The other man looked up, his expression desolate. "Hermione makes it look so easy. Oh, she had her problems at first. Trouble with control and the occasional freak accident that we couldn't explain until we were told what she was, but she never lost total control."

Severus glanced over at the chemistry apparatus. Over a burner was a metal cylinder, no doubt the best the man could do for a cauldron under the circumstances. "What have you been doing here, John?"

Dr. Granger gave a bitter laugh. "I figured out where all those wizards went wrong. I figured out why no one ever figured out how to reverse the potion's effects."

"What were they missing?"

"They were wizards." He shook his head. "That's the trick of it. In order for it to be undone, the counter agent has to be brewed by the affected party. I was the only one who could do it."

Severus stared at him in muted shock for a moment. It was so simple, and so bloody clear. How it had been missed over the centuries was mystifying. "How did you do it?"

"Chemistry, a bit of Muggle intellect and ingenuity. I got the herbs I needed from various apothecaries I found advertised in Hermione's magazines. I got what it would take to brew the potion first, figured out what the opposite would be, then worked backwards from there."

Snape shook his head. "What have you done?"

"_I did what was needed to protect my family!"_ John's voice rose in strength and the basement began to tremble. Severus gave a glance towards the shelves on either side of Hermione's father, making certain that they were not going to fall atop him.

"John, your daughter made it look easy because she was a child with a child's strength. You have awakened yourself as an adult, with an adult wizard's power and none of the training on how to control it."

The other man put his head in his hands. "I had to. Can't you see that? I had to do something. They hate my wife because she isn't a witch. They want to control and destroy my little girl." He looked up; his eyes shining with unshed tears. About them glass and metal trembled. "I had to do something."

Severus could feel his pain. "I know you did, John. I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same in your place." He ran a hand over his face, pondering the situation. "You cannot remain here, and you certain cannot see patients. Not in your state. We'll need to move you somewhere else and find someone who can teach you. You've got more than three decades of magical education and training to make up for."

He looked at the man before him, torn between sympathy and anger. He did sympathize with John Granger and the uncomfortable position that his unwanted father had put him in. However, he could not help but feel enraged that the fool may have just given Voldemort what he had been wanting when he pulled Helena Wiggentree down into the Chamber of Secrets and raped her all those years ago.

He had given Voldemort his magical son.


End file.
